Welcome To Parenthood
by Passionworks
Summary: Exclusively dedicated to Pulchra-16. Oneshot and drabble collection devoted to the babyhood of Azula and Chan's son, Raiden.
1. Do As Your Mother Says

**Author's Note: I think a lot of my trilogy fans will appreciate a collection of oneshots and drabbles dedicated to the sweet child that is Azula's son, Raiden. Since my trilogy will skip over pertinent parts of Raiden's babyhood, I decided to fill in some of those gaps; he is perhaps my favorite character to write about, after all (probably because he's my OC), besides Azula herself. Plus, I think it is a great way to see how Azula and Chan take to being first-time parents…**

**These, in total, should have a relatively low rating, 'K+' at best. There might be one particular oneshot that rates about a 'T,' or more, but this will come later.**

**I will still write the final installment of my trilogy while working on this compilation, so my patient fans won't have to worry about that at all.**

**For those who have not read my trilogy, I'll offer the warning that Azula is extremely OOC –**_**extremely **_**being the operative word here. If anyone is interested, read part two –'Beautiful Dawn' –for more information. However, you do not have to read it to enjoy these stories. I think these will all just be cute, fun, short tales that anyone can appreciate.**

**Oh, and these won't be in chronological order. These will be written as they come to my mind.**

**God Bless us all, and enjoy…**

………

**In this first oneshot, Raiden is about five months old, and I'm going to test him and see how he takes to talking for the first time.**

**There is a lesson to be learned here as well: babies cannot equate words with objects or people until they are at least a year old, so, don't take Raiden's comment offensively. It isn't like he means it.**

**I was inspired by watching my sister-in-law teach my nephew to talk –and now, my little nephew is a chatterbox… Just imagine what Raiden's going to become!**

Welcome to Parenthood

By: Passionworks

Do As Your Mother Says

The royal family's pediatrician had warned the princess that her son would hit developmental milestones much later than other children of his age, being that he was born prematurely and that she was relatively malnourished during the difficult eight-month pregnancy.

"Raiden, in spite of being born just six weeks shy of his due date, will most assuredly be a slow-learner, due to poor prenatal care on _your_ part," the doctor had said with a leisurely shake to the head and an expressionless stare to match. "Slow to walk, slow to talk. You might be extremely lucky to see him babble before his first birthday."

"And when do _most_ children start babbling, doctor?" she had asked, cradling the then one-month-old baby at her breast.

"The spontaneous babbling stage begins at four months of age," he answered, "leaving an estimated gap of eight months between typical infants and your son."

Princess Azula had considered this heartrending hurdle for quite some time, even as her little one grew, defied the odds, and began curiously utilizing his tongue, gums, and palette –for purposes other than the simple need to eat –at a decent age. Despite the prognosis, Raiden hit additional milestones quickly as well. He rolled over from his back to his stomach early on, he sat upright on his own once or twice –but he still did not quite have the strength in his spine to maintain this pose yet, which was completely normal –and he gained decent head control right on schedule. He even sprouted his first milk tooth at the conclusion of his fourth month. Goodbye to that adorable toothless grin his proud mother adored so much…

In all actuality, Azula and her husband, Chan had no reason to doubt their son's learning capabilities. He was inquisitive, driven to impress, and above all, mightily intelligent. Certainly making tangible words from silly "oohs" and "ahhs" would prove easy for the clever infant.

As of recently, while playing in the parlor with his parents, Raiden found great amusement in showing off his knack at enunciating consonants, 'm' and 'n' sounds in particular. He practiced with intense, almost deliberate motions of his lips, smacking and compressing them together as if waiting for a kiss. He habitually pressed his tongue to the roof of his mouth, encouraging other goofy pronunciations as well. He had a few gestures that he practiced more often than others. To date, the baby boy was fixated on a long stretch of the 'm' consonant, drawn out with no vowel attached to it.

The motherly Azula capitalized on the eagerness her son demonstrated, realizing that this was a perfect time to coax him into declaring his first words.

One morning, just like any other, she scooped Raiden into her arms after a round of childproof roughhousing on the spacious living room floor of the palace and sat him on his father's lap. The child made himself comfortable, lounging against Chan's torso and stretching his pudgy limbs until he felt contented enough to quit. Sitting there like a perfect picture, Raiden stared directly into his mother's warm eyes, similar to his, though his irises were still a lighter, hazier shade of gold. He opened his mouth to reveal an amorous, cheery smile, allowing that perfect little milk-white cap to protrude from his slightly swollen pink gums.

Azula crouched down in front of her giddy babe, leveling herself with his rosy face. She placed her left hand on her knee and her right in front of her heavy chest, the handle of a rattle tight in her clutches.

She shook it frivolously, a blissful grin outlining her countenance. "Raiden, look at me. Look at Mommy, sweetie."

Raiden intensified his focus as his mother's melodious voice filled his eardrums. He excitedly gurgled something ridiculous in baby lexicon and extended his arms toward the enticing rattle that continued to shake. In response, Chan wrapped his strong hands around his son's delicate frame and pulled him back before he tipped over from his efforts.

After Raiden was nestled back in Chan's lap, Azula scooted closer and continued, "Raiden, can you say, 'Mama?' Say, 'Mama,' darling."

The five-month-old opened his mouth slightly and cocked his head, his eyeballs dilating in interest. He placed his left thumb to his lips.

To Chan, "Honey, take his thumb out of his mouth."

With his own thumb and forefinger, Chan wriggled the child's digit away from his orifice. Raiden puckered his lip and complained with a few sudden gasps.

Azula lowered the rattle and pressed her palm to her son's cheek, her long fingers massaging just below his ear. With his rooting reflex in tow, he turned his head into her palm. He smiled shyly at her, and she lovingly returned the gesture.

So, seeing that he was subdued from his short outburst, she pursued her endeavor once again, "Say, 'Mama' for me, Raiden. Come on, sweetheart. Say, 'Mama.'"

The princess elevated the rattle again, and she slowly, tantalizingly mouthed her words a few more times.

"Come on, buddy," Chan chimed in, gently tickling the small of Raiden's back. "Say, 'Mama.'"

Raiden suddenly turned and peered up at his dad, his playful smile widening as he made another gurgle, which, as expected for the moment, had no relation to anything his parents were attempting to teach him.

The red rattle, like an alarm bell, jingled once more.

Azula placed her face within mere inches from her baby's, to the point where their noses almost touched.

"'Mama,'" the young mother stated, drawing it out like syrup. "Can you say that for Mommy, sweetie?"

"Mmm…" the infant caught on, delightfully humming the consonant in his endearing, high-pitched tone.

"Hey, I think he's getting it, Azula."

"Mmm…" the five-month-old purred once more, prolonging the sound.

"That's it, Raiden," Azula encouraged, gleefully grinning from ear-to-ear. "You can do it. Say, 'Mama.'"

"Mmmaaa…" was the squeaky response.

"You're almost there, buddy," Chan's optimistic voice filtered the room. "Say, 'Mama' for us, son."

The baby wiggled in his dad's lap and simply repeated what he had uttered before.

A resilient princess continued on. "Sweetie, watch Mommy," she said in a direct but pleasing tone of voice, but immediately slowed her speech pattern as the designated term left her lips.

"Ooh," Raiden squealed. "Mmmaaammm…"

Oh, he was so close. In astonishment, both parents sat completely still, as not to discourage their baby from finishing the statement…

He stopped short.

"Dada."


	2. The Terrible Tag Along

**Author's Note: I apologize for being so late to update this Raiden collection. I thought I'd scribe something for this, considering part three of my Azula Trilogy has hit quite a bump and I'm trying to weave my way out –expect an extremely long wait before you see that published… I said it once, and I will say it again: these Raiden stories derive from a trilogy. Azula is purposely out of character. I always like to get that off my chest in case a fool decides to criticize me.**

………

**I was watching an episode of AFV (that funny home video show on TV) and saw something where this little girl waved and talked to her shadow. So, I thought to myself, why couldn't Raiden do something cute like that? Because of creative liberties, Raiden can do whatever **_**I**_** want him to!**

**So, in this instance, I'd guess little Raiden here is about, say, barely two, walking and talking and interacting with his shadow.**

**Because her support is so valuable to me in ways I can't even begin to describe, I happily dedicate this _entire collection_ to my wonderful friend, Pulchra-16. I really hope you like that! Love ya, Dixie! You are totally awesome, and so is 'The Dragon's Lament!'**

…**And to those who have not read that piece of hers, I'd suggest you all go run off and do so!**

The Terrible Tag-Along

The floorboards of the dining hall were almost a solid sheet of purified glass, perfectly mopped and scrubbed to eliminate even the slightest traces of dirtiness. They gleamed like a prize trophy as the fire-lit chandelier floated from the ceiling and offered illumination, with dangling orb-like chimes that resonated and vibrated when their bodies flicked each other. Plink, plink, was the glassy, mellow tune, sweet as song.

Princess Azula gently pulled out her son's elevated chair from the dining table and carefully helped him down from his seat. The motion seemed feathery; light was his landing against the glistening floor. Raiden's wandering eyes absorbed every little thing his mind could store and he caught the faintest glimpse of something adjacent to the very tips of his bare toes. It was something that had been there since he could last recall it, or even longer, depending on what angle you looked at it.

The tot was curious.

"Mommy," he called, tugging at the skirt of his mother's red silk dress and pointing down to the floor beneath him, "what's that?"

Azula bent over and wiped his messy face with a soaked rag a servant had handed to her just moments before. She caressed the protrusions in his cheeks with the cloth, almost tickling his skin.

Finally, after setting the rag on the table for the servant to dispose of, she replied, "What's what, sweetie?"

Raiden offered her a curious look and a cock to his head. He inched closer to her legs like a punished pup. "That," he answered tersely, extending his index finger.

Azula playfully rolled her tawny eyes. "Oh, Raiden, you mean to tell me you've never seen your shadow before?"

"No."

The corners of her shapely lips curved upward. "Well, that's all it is, honey, just your shadow."

Raiden seemed unconvinced.

"It won't go away, Mommy."

The princess ran a hand through her son's fawn hair, just as she often did when he was a tiny, helpless baby. "It isn't supposed to go away."

Her elongated fingers continued to tease Raiden's furry head.

"Why?"

Her hand froze and locked in place. How could a mother possibly explain this to satisfy the immaturity of a child's mind?

"Because," she started, but hesitated briefly, "the shadow's your friend. It does everything you do, sort of like a copycat."

"Copycat?" he questioned, pronouncing the word incorrectly. He raised his thin brow, hoping to add effect to his inquisitiveness.

"A mime, a mimic. It follows your every move."

"Really?" Raiden answered, hopping off and trying to stomp his shade to some form of oblivion. He scampered ahead of his mother, waddling in the way those little baby feet usually did. He eyed his shadow like a hawk on the hunt.

Then suddenly, he stared back at the motherly princess, those intense golden irises tracing his doubt like a drunker nervously fingering the voluptuous curves of his wine glass.

Azula caught this look, knowing all too well that something was troubling her son. Something simple, probably.

"I don't like my shadow, Mommy," Raiden stated, almost fiercely, really.

Mothers never quite understood the ways their children's opinions changed so easily…

With speedy, but fine strides, she managed to reach her son's side. His glare focused upward, eyes directly pointing at hers.

She smiled lovingly down on him, "And why don't you like your shadow, Raiden?"

Raiden shrugged his bony shoulders and rested his head against her leg. His nose scrunched into her flesh.

"Raiden, sweetie, you don't need to be afraid of your shadow." the princess cajoled, crouching herself down to his height. Her digits caressed his spine as she pushed him to her. Once he cuddled in her embrace, the child dug his cheek into her shoulder exhaled with a grunt-like huff.

"Your shadow won't hurt you, honey. See, look, watch what you can do."

So, Azula rotated Raiden so his back was against her breasts. She had him look to his feet.

"The shadow's your friend. You can say 'hi' to it and it'll wave right back. Try it: say 'hi' to your shadow, Raiden."

He adorably cocked his head; his shade followed suit. At his mother's command his lifted his tiny hand and waved.

"Hi, shadow," he mumbled weakly, without much enthusiasm.

Azula picked up on his edginess. "You don't need to be nervous, Raiden. Did you see how it waved back at you? Did you like that?"

"No."

She sighed. "Now, why not, sweetie? Tell Mommy why."

The two-year-old fidgeted a bit, a tad too panicky to reveal any truth to his quick conclusion.

"It's scary."

"Oh," Azula teased, "no it's not. Here, why don't you do that again? Say 'hi' to your shadow."

"Hi, shadow." Raiden's fingers danced like spider legs on the flat floor.

"See? There you go," his mother said with approval dripping from her tongue. "You want to do it again?"

The anxious frown that was plastered on the boy's face was now a small, weak, 'u'-shaped smile. He nodded and Azula repeated the simple command to him like teaching a catdog a trick.

Another wave. "Hi, shadow." His voice certainly perked up a bit…

"Now, wasn't that fun, sweetie?"

Sweet little Raiden finally giggled. "I like my shadow, Mommy."

Azula was not surprised. Sooner or later, Raiden usually warmed up to just about anything.

"How about we go show it to Daddy? He'd love to meet your shadow."

"Okay."

With that, Azula folded her son's tiny hand into the palm of her own…

Alone like an abandoned knick-knack, the chandelier stood in seclusion. It danced as a soloist, with rays like the laced skirt of a beautiful woman. It was the sun, the massive, revolving sun lit by a flittering flame.


	3. The Unfriendly Exchange

**Author's Note: My work has been nothing but slacked in recent days, and I hate it. Hate. It.**

**I keep conjuring ideas for this collection and writing sections and tidbits to a few of the pieces, but never get around to completing them.**

**So, here I am writing out another idea, a more recent one, based off one of my sweet little two-year-old nephew's habits.**

**Oh, and pay attention to something important Azula reveals here! It plays a big role in the first chapter of 'Lightning's Savior,' which I have yet to complete… And, on another note, this fic sort of pokes fun at Tom-Tom, who, in the series, is said to be two. However, I always thought that he resembled a child younger than that: eighteen months at the very most. I mean, he was babbling instead of speaking coherently; his balance was poor at best, despite coordination skills in typical kids his age being quite advanced; and, lastly, he didn't really have any teeth (at least, I don't **_**think **_**he had any)… Well, I guess that's just me being picky, but, hey, it's true! See for yourself!**

**Hey, Dixie, since this entire collection is yours, see this as a Christmas present from me! Merry Christmas and Happy New Year to you!**

**And, of course, the same to everyone else who subscribes, reads, and faves!**

The Unfriendly Exchange

Princess Azula, adorned in a sparkling, revealing crimson and gold-trimmed dress, held a vigilant gaze upon her twenty-two-month-old son, Raiden as he romped and played on the soft floor with a three or four other kids about his age. With a pair of chopsticks firm in her grasp, she turned away from the boy and eyed her plate, an oriental piece, with its scattered helpings of the royal course. A half-eaten pastry was off to the side –she had been saving it to share with her son, but he was too occupied at the moment to eat his portion. She wasn't too concerned; she had fed him a decent-sized dinner not a half hour ago. He was fine, and, besides, she thought, any moment to herself at a party as festive as this one was not to be wasted. Young Raiden was close to turning two, and in being of this age, he was (and always had been, really) quite the skittish clinger, clutching her legs and hiding behind her skirt, oftentimes begging to he held and loved and saved from whatever troubled him. Delicately weaving her chopsticks through a serving of warm noodles, Azula sighed, deciding it was best to be content in what was as of now. Her little son was happy to scamper about with other children this night; at least he was, for the moment, not allowing his wariness to get the best of him.

The princess took another cautious look at Raiden before gazing upon her surroundings, which were quite glamorous. Royals of all kind –major and minor officials, retired army and navy men and their wives and children, palace dwellers like herself –were swarmed together in tight red units, mostly based on gender or significance. Their clothes were just as fancy as hers (if not a little less, she'd admit), red, pink, and glimmering gold. All eventually carried plates to the buffet, which was where she was standing, decorating them with foods of wide variety, some of which descending from the palettes of other nations. Looking up above her now, Azula made note of the flame-lit chandelier and how it glinted. She recalled once pointing up to it when Raiden was about six months old, watching his gold-colored eyes gaze upon it with innocent awe.

Again staring at him now, she exhaled, smiling, as he willfully handed what looked like a block to a boy slightly bigger than himself. Being so premature at birth, he was always the smallest amongst the kids of his age, Azula mused, not that it bothered her anymore. As long as he was healthy, reaching his milestones on time (if not earlier than most, surprisingly), and growing still, she had nothing to worry about.

From the distance, she caught his eye, and he waved blissfully at her until an army man's daughter tumbled over him, laughing. Raiden, shaking his head, grinned. He slipped out from under the girl. Once on his feet, he bolted, prompting his female companion to pursue him, which she did, of course. The boy Raiden had been previously engaged with joined in as well, easily surpassing the girl in the chase. The whole time, Azula listened to their joyful giggling. She enjoyed observing this moment of happiness between them.

It wasn't long before Azula was joined by a stray woman, Mai's graying mother, actually. Her son, Tom-Tom, now about seven years old, joined her side.

"It's wonderful watching them when they're that young, isn't it?" she asked. Seeing her lack of attention, Tom-Tom snaked a hand over the buffet table and snatched a cookie. Without even taking her eyes off the princess, Mai's mother swatted his hand. He flinched, dropped the cookie, and ran off.

Laughing, Azula replied, with eyes still on her little boy, "Yes, it is."

"He was something when he was a little baby."

Azula did not answer directly, though she nodded. With her free hand, she flipped her long hair behind her back, her gaze never leaving Raiden. Despite having her raven tresses fixed in her topknot, her hair seemed much longer than it usually was. She had been letting it grow for a little while, preferring it over her usual trim.

"I remember when my Tom-Tom was his age. Our boys are total opposites, you know."

At this admission, the princess faced her. She raised a questionable eyebrow, beckoning the older woman to continue.

"Tom-Tom was born a week late and hit all his milestones later than most children do. Little Raiden there, people are telling me he was talking at five months, even despite being born, what was it, two months early?"

Offering a sincere smile in response to the compliment, Azula replied, "Even my physician's surprised."

"And yet, he's so small."

"I know," said Azula, setting her plate down upon the buffet table. "Raiden's first few months were agonizing on his development."

"He was a colicky one, wasn't he?"

Shyly smiling, the princess answered, "He was. As calm as he is now, you'd never believe he had colic. It put a lot of stress on him. My physician even recommended at his first year that I hold off on weaning him."

"Did you?"

"I had no choice. Like any mother, I wanted what was best for him. Still, the doctors are quite certain that he'll have a growth spurt soon and catch up with all the other kids."

Raiden, as if sensing that his mother was talking about him, wandered over to the two women, his right hand loosely clenched against his chest. His left immediately grabbed hold of Azula's dress. His eager gold eyes met hers, and she scooped him up into her arms.

"Raiden, you silly thing," she kidded cheerfully, cupping his chin. She kissed his forehead. "Can't you see Mommy's talking?"

Raiden offered her no response beyond a blissful giggle. He wiggled in her grasp, and hugged her neck tightly, finally resting his head against her cheek. In his angelic tone, he repeated his mother. "Mommy talkin'!"

Planting a loving kiss on his soft cheek, Azula then stroked a few wisps of his light hair, a habit of hers since the day of his birth. His hair, which was growing straight and long, quite like most boys born in the royal family, was the same color as his father's, a simple tint of brown. His uncle, Zuko often mused that his nephew would be the first of all Firelords to have hair this color, as most favored the typical raven tresses.

"Raiden," Azula said, remembering that she had been saving a pastry for him, "Mommy saved you something."

Immediately gaining the little boy's attention, Azula lifted the tart off her plate and handed it to him. Examining it for a moment, he nibbled the breaded corner as she placed him back on the floor. Once there, he extracted the pastry from his mouth and waved it at his mother, offering it to her with a handsome little smile etched on his face.

"Mommy already ate her portion, sweetheart," Azula said in response, exhaling as she bent down to his level. "You eat your treat, okay?"

"Mommy's," he urged, laughing. His tiny baby teeth revealed themselves as his grin widened.

"All right," Azula replied, delightfully defeated. "Here. We'll share it." She gently removed the treat from his grasp and pretended to bite off a portion of it, to which Raiden responded with a quiet whimper, his way of telling her that he obviously wanted it back.

She handed it to him.

Raiden turned and bolted, resuming his game with the other children. The twenty-two-month-old, in his typical infantile gait, waddled around with the girl of the group, the pastry still clutched tight in his grasp. Together, the two constructed a tipsy tower out of the blocks. Raiden, participating in the building process with only one free hand, was the first to knock it over. In their descent, the blocks scattered around the two of them. The little girl picked up one, and they began the task again. Content that her son was occupied and out of her hair, Azula turned and locked eyes with Mai's mother, who had watched the princess and her son with mild satisfaction.

"Sorry about that," Azula said with a half-chuckle.

The aged woman shook her head; no apology was necessary.

"Raiden's probably not even going to eat the thing," the princess admitted with a hint of regret. "He'll end up dropping it or handing it off to that little girl he keeps playing with."

"Well," Mai's mother answered, "if he drops it, I'm sure Tom-Tom will eat it, and if he gives it to someone, at least he'll be learning a little something about sharing."

Agreeing, Azula's eyes wandered from her son to Tom-Tom, who had somehow wandered over to where the toddlers were, eying their blocks, feigning interest in them. The young mother was astounded by how pudgy the seven-year-old was. He was no longer that babbling tot she endangered back in Omashu almost six years ago. She then said, changing the subject slightly, "Tom-Tom's not quite like Mai, is he?"

"Oh, not at all!" the woman confessed. "Mai was a stiff, quiet child, much like she is now. And Tom-Tom's a piggish youngster. I'm sure you've noticed how weighty he is in comparison to his sister."

Princess Azula found herself stunned by the woman's brazen declaration. She allowed her bewilderment to slip off her tongue. "And you're not bothered by it at all?"

"It hurt me at the start, but I've come to believe that kids will be kids no matter what mold they fill. Siblings aren't always mirrors of each other, you know."

"I suppose I _wouldn't_ know," she replied slowly, almost suddenly feeling a pang of guilt. It subsided instantly. "Not yet, at least."

Mai's mother nodded. "You'll understand that the moment you bring another baby into the world," she informed. "You do plan to give Raiden a sibling or two, don't you?"

Azula had a feeling this subject would rise. She herself had been happy with her one baby for the time being, but Chan had been the one who hoped she'd have another, so he could have some involvement in the process (he had been absent throughout the entirety of Azula's first pregnancy). "A whole pack of boys," he had said. To Azula, however, the gender of any future child was not in question. She had come to accept the surprise, since she had regrettably been disappointed when she found out that she had given birth to a baby boy inside the Boiling Rock.

After forebodingly long pause, she answered, "I wouldn't mind it."

"Mai's always telling me that Zuko too wants a few more kids in the family, since the two of them can't bear a baby or two of their own. I think my daughter still holds a grudge, though. Towards you… I mean. And possibly towards him," she said, tilting her head in Raiden's direction.

"We've come to terms with our differences," Azula said in Mai's defense. "She's still a bit uncomfortable on the subject of children, but she's come to respect and love Raiden as both her nephew and legitimate heir." She lowered her voice to a whisper. "I haven't told anyone this aside from my mother, but I am starting to think Zuko may get his wish. I just might be pregnant again."

"Really?"

"I could be anywhere between five and six weeks pregnant."

"Oh, how wonderful!" Mai's mother whispered, though her voice was on the borderline of shouting. "When do you plan to tell Chan about it?"

"Soon enough. Chan eagerly wants another child. He's been fantasizing a brood of boys –at my expense, of course –for at least a year now."

Mai's mother raised a questioning eyebrow. "And if you have a girl?"

Azula shrugged her shoulders and let the subject of her unborn babe's gender drop. She then replied, "My mother ordered the physician to see me tomorrow morning. He'll confirm the pregnancy. After that, I'll tell him, and then let everyone else know after I pass the first tri –"

A piercing shriek echoed through the whole ballroom, catching every occupant's attention. Azula glanced in the direction of the noise and noticed Raiden rushing towards her, his eyes filled with tears and his hands empty.

"Mommy!" he squealed, placing extra emphasis on the last syllable and stretching it until he reached his mother. Once at her feet, he raised his hands, flailing them miserably as if they were on fire.

Bending down to pick him up, Azula asked him, "What happened, sweetheart? Where's the pastry Mommy gave you?"

When she raised him, little Raiden dug his face in the crook of the princess' neck, his hands clinging tightly to the cut in her dress. Trying her best to console him, Azula made her best attempts to wipe his tears away. Running his hair away from his face, she kissed him atop his forehead and hastily repeated her question.

"Pastry right… there…" Raiden said through choked sobs, and turned his head in the direction of where he was previously playing.

Before Azula even had a chance to say anything else, Mai's mother roared her own son's name.

Tom-Tom, grimacing with lips covered in the pastry's red filling, threw a quick tantrum at his mother and cried, "I didn't do it, Mom! Honest!"

"Then explain to me why you have sauce on your lips!" Her foot began to neurotically tap against the floor. Her lip quivered in anger. Princess Azula, stilling clinging tight to her own child, watched with both fascination and apprehension, and said nothing.

"Well," the pudgy boy stammered, his expression growing all the more anxious under his mother's sturdy gaze. "He made me do it!" He sent a finger at Raiden, who, in response, looked away, and buried his face in Azula's breast. "Honest, he did!"

"And how did poor Raiden over there _make _you take his treat from him, Tom-Tom?" Her foot pounded the floor harder.

"He was handing it to me! Honest, Mom!"

While the two of them quarreled, Chan had managed to reach his wife. Azula handed Raiden to him and he bounced him in his arms, soothing his twenty-two-month-old son as best he could.

"And you snatched it out of his hand?" Mai's mother growled.

"No!" Tom-Tom yelled.

"Yes, you did. Now, come with me, young man."

Grabbing Tom-Tom by the wrist, Mai's mother dragged the boy over to Azula and Chan. Shoving him forward, she said, "Now, you apologize to Raiden, right now."

Dejectedly kicking the floor, Tom-Tom muttered in an almost inaudible tone, "I'm… sorry, Raiden."

"For what?"

"For stealing your stupid pastry."

"Say that again?"

"For stealing your… pastry."

Azula stared down on the boy, reached down, and pat him on his shoulder. "Raiden forgives you, sweetie."

"Azula," Mai's mother muttered, "don't coddle him."

"Oh, it's all right. Little Raiden put it on himself." As if to put emphasis on this declaration, Azula spread her arms out, and Chan handed the now calmed toddler back to her. "See? Raiden's fine now."

"Okay," Tom-Tom said, his expression reading that he obviously wished he had the forgiving princess as his mother.

Mai's mother had enough. "Come along now, Tom-Tom. I still have to clean the filling off your face."

And with that, the older woman stormed off, her grip on Tom-Tom's wrist tighter than ever. Azula watched them go, petting Raiden's fawn wisps with gentle, stroking fingers. Altering his position in her arms, Azula said to him, "Now, Raiden, if Mommy gives you something else to nibble on, you better eat it." She stated this without a hint of annoyance. Raiden giggled in reply, his arm then outstretching toward the buffet table.

"Oh, all right, Raiden. Chan, hand me one of those cookies he's pointing at, would you?"

"Sure."

With the small cookie in her hand, she stared Raiden in the eyes, and said, "Raiden, open your mouth, sweetie."

The little boy did, taking a bite out of the treat. He chewed on it slowly until eventually swallowing it.

"Did you like it, sweetheart?" Azula asked, finishing off the rest of the cookie herself.

Little Raiden chuckled, wrapped his arms around his mother's neck, and melted in her warm, loving embrace.


	4. Home At Last

**Author's Note: Of all the parts of this Raiden collection so far, this insert will probably be most satisfying to my trilogy fans. This oneshot occurs following Azula's release from the Boiling Rock. I am depicting her return back to the palace after just giving birth to Raiden. Ursa and Azula are going to have themselves a round of chitchat… Oh, and in case it isn't obvious, Raiden does not technically have his name at the start. That comes later in this tale.**

**I would like to thank Pulchra-16 for giving some great advice with this one so, so, so long ago! Sorry I took so long to upload it… And I'm so glad you liked the last installment!**

**Oh, I forgot to mention that in 'Beautiful Dawn,' I mention that Azula first reveals Chan to Zuko, not Ursa. This chapter stands as a sort of collaborative, "what-if" idea between me and Dixie.**

**Of course, Dixie, this entire collection is cordially yours!**

**Now, onto the show!**

Home at Last

"Here's your room, Azula," Zuko informed his sister in a most lofty voice. "As you can see, nothing has really changed since you've last dwelled here, save for the baby's crib."

Azula, carrying her freshly born son in a downy blanket that rested at the crook of her arm, brushed past her elder brother without a word of response. She was followed by her mother. Ursa nodded for Azula, who was now scanning the red walls that formerly housed her smoldering rage.

"Well, Azula, you just settle in here. Mother, you too, if you wish. Mai would like to speak with me. I'll be back if you so request."

Zuko swished the cape of his outfit and headed off for the Firelord's suite, where Mai was presumably waiting for him. Azula turned back and watched him go, smiling secretly, knowing that the noble was due for a verbal beating by his wife.

"Azula." Ursa's hand met her daughter's bony shoulder. The girl was much too thin, the distraught mother thought at once. Her touch was almost ice cold against Azula's raggedy shirt –she had yet to change back into formal Fire Nation attire. "You should settle down, like your brother said. Here." She strolled to Azula's bed and tugged the sheets out from under the perfectly fluffed feather pillows. The material had a swishy sound to it, almost like the tune dishes made when scrubbed.

Azula's infant child squealed like a baby rathog, his teeny limbs stretching in jerky increments. The princess offered him a tired look, somewhat exasperated by his outburst, and loosened the wrapping around his torso. He squirmed contentedly, exhaling a sigh of relief.

"Azula, please lie down. I'm sure you're tired, dear."

"I am," she responded thanklessly. She was much too weary to even consider expressing gratitude. Surely Ursa understood.

"You get comfortable, now. Would you like me to open a window? It's somewhat dim in here."

"Crack one, if you would, Mother." Azula landed on the mattress, pulling the sheets up to her ribcage. She snuggled the back of her head into the fluffy pillow, sighing deeply, closing her eyes without the slightest hope of finding slumber.

The former Firelady grinned contentedly and stroked the ex-sovereign's charcoal black tresses before departing for the nearest windowpane. It creaked upon being opened; it reminded Princess Azula of her rusty cell doors –how they wailed in agony each time they were unlocked…

Her teeth gritted at the very thought.

"Mother, you don't have to stand," she called out, just to rid herself of what she was contemplating. "Sit down next to me. Please?" Azula patted the mattress with her free hand. Her baby cooed in his sleep.

Hiking her royal dress, Ursa situated herself next to her daughter. She studied the dark circles under the tired new mother's eyes, tracing them with her sturdy gaze.

She exhaled as a female servant entered stridently, carrying a porcelain tray with two glasses of water.

"Water, Princess? Milady?"

"No thank you," Azula muttered quietly, not wishing to speak up and wake the newborn infant she was cradling.

"She'll have a glass," Ursa commanded in an upbeat tone.

"Mother." The princess hair waved as her head swiveled in Ursa's direction.

"You'll need it."

The servant set down the tray on a dresser next to the bed. The liquid was seen circling the form of the glass, swirling like a tornado. At last, it went still.

"Whatever happened to 'I'm not thirsty,' Mother?"

"Oh! The servant squeaked, interrupting the conversation between the royals. "Is that _your_ baby, Princess?"

Princess Azula eyed the common woman suspiciously. The baby boy opened his eyes, squinting at the new face nervously. "He is mine, yes."

"It's a boy? Isn't that something? He's a darn cute little thing! Might I hold him?"

The princess' son hid his face in his mother's breast, his hands clinging to her tattered shirt like a slothmonkey.

The babe just wanted to doze off –Azula read this immediately. "I don't think that's such a good idea right now. My son is newly born. And tired, as am I. Now, if you don't mind, the three of us here would like a bit of privacy."

"I promise I won't hurt him, Princess. Just let me see his pretty little face. It's been so long since a baby was born at the palace."

"This child was not born at the palace," Azula brusquely informed the defiant female.

"Then where was he born at, Princess?"

"Where do you think, fool? Was I not in a _prison_ for almost four years?"

"He was born in a prison?"

"Yes. He was. And as you can see, he is fine and healthy and doesn't want people pestering him while he's trying to take a nap.

"Leave, would you?"

"If it is your wish, Princess?" The commoner was defeated of purpose. Her voice was solemn, but it cracked as she was seized by sudden embarrassment.

"It is. Get out."

Ursa stared down the corridor as the servant tiptoed down it. She shook her head in disbelief and disappointment. "I think you could have handled that better, Azula."

The princess left her mother hanging on her own presumption.

After uncomfortable silence usurped the peace of the room, Azula requested for the bedroom door to be closed. Ursa rose and shut it tight, humming a tune as she went about her duty.

"What is that you're humming, Mother? It sounds awfully familiar." Azula's face read curiosity. Her raised eyebrows gave her a sort of expecting expression. The male babe reached and touched her chin with his fingertips, sighing and tightly squeezing his eyelids shut. He whimpered something in a tongue his two roommates would never be able to translate.

"Oh, you remember it?" Ursa asked with a hearty laugh. "Well, I used to sing it to you and Zuko when you were little. It's an old warrior's song women would sing to their husbands before they'd depart for war."

"All those years ago," Azula reminisced, grasping her son's slithering palm with her index finger and thumb. She wiggled it tenderly, but soon freed it and allowed it to explore as it pleased. Explore, it did not. It settled where she sat it down: atop her bosom. "But now you have another child to sing it to, Mother."

"I think he'd much rather hear you sing it, dear."

"Oh, stop it. You know I can't sing at all."

"Sure you can. He won't judge and degrade you for one sour note."

Azula looked down on her child. His expression suddenly made her nervous.

"Mother," she whispered, not bothering to break her son's squinty-eyed gaze at her, "I just don't think I'm ready for responsibility of this magnitude. You know what I mean? I have only lived to maintain my own upkeep. This unexpected change is…"

"Overwhelming?"

"Yes, overwhelming," she said with a mucky exhale and a cough to go with it.

"Water?"

"Please."

One of the glasses found its way to Azula's free hand. She took the rim to her lips, allowing the water to trickle into her mouth. Vigorously, the water was consumed, and Ursa immediately set the glass down for her daughter once she finished.

"Overwhelming," Azula repeated, letting the word crawl off her tongue with a bitter aftertaste.

The former Firelady's arm weaved around the princess' shoulder. With a sincere grin, she stated, "It is nothing you can't handle. You stood your ground and protected this child. There is no question that you are ready, even if you don't think you are."

"There's more to childrearing and bonding than that, Mother, and you know it." The baby inserted his fist into his mouth, setting it squarely between his puffy lips. Azula sent a reluctant finger through her son's russet hair, finding it oddly smooth against his head. She held the finger there for some time, as if afraid to withdraw it and disturb the newborn.

"There is nothing you need to fear –"

"I don't _fear_," Azula butted in, but she instantly lowered her voice to nothing more than a subdued whisper; "I simply doubt my own capabilities."

"Why? Tell me why."

The princess bowed her head, but her stoic expression masked any form of defeat, for which there was none anyway. A single black tress dangled down upon her scalp, and it rested itself at the babe's pink cheek. She removed it and twisted it behind her ear. The child removed his fist from his mouth where it had been for the past few minutes, the spittle shining off of it like a new light. His legs squirmed in the blankets, but they were quick to come to rest. Baby blue eyes blinked and opened fully, exposing the richness of their hue. His face stretched into a tiny smile. With that pang of sympathy slipping into her bosom, Azula felt her resolve just melt away, as if this baby had some sort of invisible fixation against the negative side of her.

"Maybe it is just something I'm not ready to discuss yet," she finally admitted. Ursa expected this answer; she nodded approvingly. "But there is something else you need to know."

"What is that?"

Azula turned the baby onto his side and placed his head into the crook of her neck. His petite digits outstretched in response, and he splayed his hand at her clavicle –the farthest his arm could even reach.

"Do you want to know how I came to be pregnant, Mother?"

Ursa froze. "Who the father is?" How she stated the word, 'father' was in a manner of concern, like someone having to disclose the doer of a crime.

"In essence, yes."

The princess paused here. She supposed that she was willing to reveal this secret to Ursa, but after preparing for it, she felt the need to take it back and hold it for herself a little longer.

But her words said otherwise. Without thinking, she unveiled her thoughts: "Admiral Chan's son is the father. I met him at a party on Ember Island when I was fourteen.

"He raped me, Mother."

"Does anyone in the prison know of this?"

"Not a soul." She answered this much too quickly.

"Are you upset about it?"

Unconsciously pulling the bed sheet off of her, Azula responded: "Only a part of me is."

"Why?"

"A part of me is angry for succumbing to such an entry level of weakness."

The baby squeaked and burped. He had been holding that burp in since Azula nursed him on the airship, and he was quite pleased to have expelled it.

The young mother snaked a hand down to his back and rubbed it. She patted it once, seeing if he had anything else he wished to release. He did; a couple more strident burps slipped from his mouth. After assisting with her son's needs, she looked back at Ursa; she was presumably expecting the older woman to turn down what had been said just moments before.

But something else managed to cut into the conversation. "What do you plan on naming the baby, Azula?"

Azula had never even considered this at all, not even before her pregnancy –it had not ever crossed her mind. She was taken aback by the thought of naming this piece of herself.

"You do have a name for him, don't you? Surely you have some idea."

There was silence, except for the sound of the babe suckling on his thumb, which had mysteriously inserted itself into his mouth.

"Do you remember what you told me in that prison cell when I was nursing the baby for the first time?" the princess asked in a curious tone. "How my drive to bend should center itself on his protection?"

Ursa amiably draped her hand onto Azula's gaunt arm, her eyes set on the baby boy. "I do recall. Why?"

Azula leveled her head with Ursa's, her beaming face revealing readiness and inspiration. "I wish to call him Raiden, after the spirit of lightning. If I can one day produce lightning again…" She drifted off. "…I wish only to salvage this skill for him."

"It's a beautiful name, honey. Raiden, I like it." Ursa patted her newly-named grandson son his curved spine. "Do you like your name, Raiden?"

The baby responded with yet another resounding burp, his version of a confirmation.

Azula smiled warmly, and held a gaze with little Raiden.

"Raiden it is, then."


	5. The First Bath

**Author's Note: Happy Belated Birthday to my best buddy over the Internet, Dixie! Her birthday was June 20****th****! And I missed it...**

**I apologize for uploading this story two days late, Dixie. I always delay gift-giving, and there always seems to be an excuse for it. Mine this time was work. Sometimes, I hate my job…**

**Anyway, wish my friend a Happy Birthday!**

The First Bath

Ursa's aged but cheery face peeked from the bathroom door, her slender, feminine hand curling against the side of the wall. She fixed her eyes on her daughter and said, "I just had the servants draw a lukewarm bath for the baby."

Azula, in the bedroom adjacent to the bathroom, sent her an exasperated stare, but nodded approvingly. At the moment, the princess' hands were tied. With her left hand closed gently around her cranky two-day-old son, Raiden's jerky, kicking legs and her right wiping his bottom clean, she replied, "Thanks, Mother."

Ursa stepped from the door of the bathroom and entered the bedroom. She reached her grandson's changing table and pressed a hand to Azula's shoulder and gave her a laugh.

"You're busy, I see," she teased.

Azula sighed, answering, "I've been busy since the moment I went into labor with him two days ago." She playfully rolled her eyes at her little one. "You know, he kept me up all last night."

"They'll do that to you," Ursa reassured her daughter, "but it gets better over the coming weeks. You'll get a routine going with him."

"Let's see how long that takes…" She trailed off as she let go of her son's legs. She watched him as he laid there on the changing table. His eyes squinted up into hers and his frail arms stretched in random, jerking increments. He turned his head ever so slightly and opened his mouth, his tongue peaking from his rosebud lips. Azula reached and grasped his tiny left hand and slowly placed his thumb into his mouth. He contentedly sucked on it for a minute or two, spittle bubbling at the corners of his lip.

Azula rubbed his pink cheek with the back of her right index finger, and asked her mother, "How long before the servants finish drawing Raiden's bath?"

"A minute or so, Azula."

Nodding, the princess gave an indifferent look at the shirt her son was wearing. It was a bright crimson garment with sleeves that barely hugged his wrists and a frame that appeared baggy against his skin. Most clothes, Azula realized early on, would probably fit loosely on her premature newborn son. She had birthed him two months shy of his due date (because she neglected to alert the warden about the pregnancy) inside the strictest Fire Nation prison and he weighed just over six pounds. Tugging the shirt up his taut, soft-skinned belly, she slipped Raiden's arms through the sleeves and raised the red material over his face, an action which disturbed him, and caused him to grunt a few short, agitated screams. Weaving her hand behind his neck and caressing his skin with her fingernails, Azula quieted him as she finally detached the shirt from his head.

His colorless, squinting orbs met hers. Appreciatively, Azula thought, but the two-day-old perhaps had no concept of appreciation. The concept of a concept was foreign to him. Everything to the babe was blank, fresh, and new. Every sight was something extraordinary.

Azula was then reminded of the moment Ursa placed his bundled body into her arms. The moment she held his gaze and saw the father in him whom he still had yet to meet…

Interrupting the moment of silence between mother and son, a servant poked her head from the bathroom and reported, "Your son's bath has been drawn, Your Highness."

Breaking eye contact with her baby boy, the princess offered the servant a nonchalant nod of thanks. The servant retreated back into the bathroom as Azula coiled her hands around Raiden's naked frame and picked him up off the changing table. She defensively pressed his front against her robe and shielded his backside with its flowing sleeve. Turning, she and her mother slowly entered the bathroom.

There were two other female servants there besides the one that had spoken to them just moments before. They were standing next to the wash tub, their eyes eager to see the newborn that was almost completely hidden under the sleeve of his mother's elegant crimson robe. One stepped forward, a smile as wide as the world etched across her face.

"Oh, look at the cute baby, girls!" she screeched delightfully, her arms extending in the hopes that Azula would pass her unclothed son into them. She insisted, "Oh, I want to hold him! Please, will you let me hold him, Princess?"

Azula gave her a stern frown as the baby uttered a sudden wail and hid his tiny face into her breast. He balled his petite fists under his chin. Azula pressed her own chin to the top of his head, and shushed and rocked him until his fit subsided, which, surprisingly, did not take long.

Looking up, she snapped, "You will not hold him. Leave. All three of you."

The servants, before making any moves toward the exit, each offered pleading stares at Ursa, who, in their eyes, was the unbiased peacemaker. In response, the former Firelady crossed her arms and calmly ordered them to leave. Crushed, they did as told.

Baby Raiden slowly rose from Azula's chest and watched their figures descended from the bedroom. He cooed and stretched a hand up at the princess' neck.

Smiling, Ursa bent down and sent a finger into the water, testing it. "It's a little too cool," she said. "You wouldn't want him to catch a chill."

Freeing a hand, Azula bowed down and joined her mother. Placing two fingertips into the water, she exhaled, heating the water ever so slightly. Retracting her hand, she asked, "Is this too warm, Mother?"

"No, it's warm enough," she answered. "Now, just place his backend in the water and hold him upright with your hand."

Hesitantly, Azula set her son into the water, legs first. At the moment his toes touched the warm liquid, he withdrew them, his entire body stiffening.

"Raiden, sweetie, the water's not hurting you," Azula coddled. "Mother?"

"Just grab hold of his legs and sit him down. You won't hurt him," she reported.

The princess seized his stiffened legs and settled him in the water. Deciding not to fight his mother, he relaxed, and she reacted by letting go of him. Her fingers wrapped around his left shoulder.

Ursa, staring down at her grandson with a warm smile, said, "Your father took much pride in knowing how his children reacted to water."

"Really? Why?" Azula asked, her eyes never leaving Raiden's.

"Well, there are three ways that a child can react to it. Some sleep right through it. Children like this would, in a symbolic but not necessarily true sense, lead deceitful lives. That's how Zuko was when I first bathed him. Other children react mildly: they would wail and fidget a little, but eventually would get used to it. You were this way, actually. The sages say children like that grow to be able to tolerate and overcome obstacles. And –"

"Let me guess," Azula interrupted. "Some kids fuss the whole way through."

"Exactly."

Azula considered this, and then asked, "You don't really believe the symbolism, do you?"

Ursa replied, "No." She paused. "Do you have a good grip on Raiden, Azula?"

"I think so."

"Now that he's in the tub, cup some water in your free hand and pour it down him. Start at his stomach, and then do his head. A baby's face is a little sensitive –starting there would probably startle him."

With slow, tentative movements, Azula bent down, cupped a little water and trickled it down his belly. Droplets fell from his soft skin like teardrops. Raiden stared at the water with wide, nervous eyes. He extended his arms and grasped a stray strand of Azula's hair in his hand, pulling it lightly. He let out a groan.

"Shhh, Raiden," his mother said in a soothing voice, releasing her hair from his grip. She tipped some water down his head.

"He's good and wet," Ursa informed. "Just wet your fingers and rub over his skin with them. No soap."

The princess made no attempt to question this as she dipped her fingers into the water. Starting at his neck, she began to rub her digits across his skin. As much as the newborn loved his mother's comforting touch, he was still quite upset about being soaking wet. He released his frustration with a cry, and plunged his balled fists down, sending a splash which hit both his mother and his grandmother. To this, the two of them turned their heads back from the spray, their eyes closing tightly. Reacting quickly, but relaxingly to the disturbance, Azula grabbed both Raiden's hands into her one, and held them at his chest.

She offered a look at Ursa, who said, "Here, let me hold his hands so you can wash him."

Without a word, the princess allowed Ursa to take hold of Raiden's hands, and she continued the chore of wetting and massaging the infant. He, thankfully, provided no utterances at this, and simply conceded to allowing his mother to wash him clean. Within minutes, she stopped, and timidly lifted him out of the tub. While doing this, her mother grabbed a nearby crimson towel, and wrapped it around the slippery baby. Azula took the cloth and patted him dry. Once finished, she laid him at her chest, his form swathed in the towel, and walked out of the room, Ursa following at a step behind her. She halted at the changing table, and set baby Raiden down upon it.

She removed the towel, and dropped it into a laundry hamper nearby.

A sigh. "There, sweetie," Azula said in a relieved tone, as she began to tie a fresh cloth around Raiden's bottom. Once she finished, she put another shirt on him. As she did this task, the tiny babe did not make one complaint, for, by the time she pulled it down, she saw his eyes close, and heard him exhale.

Awed by her son's exhaustion and readiness to sleep, she raised him up ever so gently, walked to her bed, and sat upon it. She cuddled up against her pillow and silently beckoned Ursa to pull the cover over her, for both her hands her tied in a loving embrace around her son. After doing so, Ursa kissed her grandson's clean forehead, strode to the door, smiled, and closed it shut.


	6. Without Limits

**Author's Note: I started writing this one in June 2010, so it's over a year old. A year and seven months, to be exact. And I never wanted to finish it and make it perfect until now. Sad, isn't it? But, still, I think this one is REALLY cute!**

**Please review, please!**

Without Limits

As a first-time parent, Princess Azula had struggled with exposing her young son to some sort of a social life. She had supposed early on that her hesitation was due to her previous years of sheltering at the Boiling Rock. However, she had made it a point to not be this way anymore.

She had –for the most part –tamed her urge to fight off the assistance of her servants, but that did not mean her drive to protect her son from outside influences had waned. Her mother, Ursa had helped her along with that. Made her a bit more open than she had previously been.

Raiden was currently eighteen-months-old, and had become quite the social blossom in the short span of his ripe little life. Yet, the tot was still one to seek shelter between his mother's long legs, or behind his dad's sturdy back when he felt troubled.

Azula often found time in her days to recall that first time her baby son set out on his own and sought the company of others within his age group. He was around his fifteenth month when this transpired. It was a random event, his yearning was. It almost reminded the princess of her own youth, how she stridently emerged into the royal community. But little Raiden's surfacing was far less dramatic than hers was. Even despite the fact, its occurrence was still awe-inspiring.

There was a service before the gates of the palace that day; a procession was in place there, marking the anniversary of Sozin's death. It was protocol for all members of the royal family to be present, but the princess was unable to attend. Baby Raiden had been ill in the days prior to the event, and was showing no signs of improvement. It was a growing sickness, meaning that he was only unwell due to growth spurts he was phasing through. Putting her sickly infant before herself, Azula found it necessary to obliterate imperial etiquette and stay behind and nurse him back to health.

The event was a public one, and servants were attending some of the festivities held by the townsfolk. A couple of them had left their youngest children behind at the palace for Azula to hopefully look after. The maternal noble told them she did not mind watching a few extras, but she warned the lazy mothers that Raiden's needs went before all the rest. Even with the word of reprimand, they were not hesitant to leave the youths in the care of their princess.

She had assembled her brood in the living quarters, where the three of them gathered near the middle of the floor and activated an imaginary role-playing game. Azula was too engrossed in the task of healing her son to hear the gist of the sport. She sat in a wooden rocking chair, cradling Raiden in the crook of her arm. As Azula rocked the chair with the very tips of her toes, she stroked his reddened forehead with a wet cloth. The water she squeezed from the towel dribbled onto his skin, leaving tear-like streaks. With each gentle massage, Raiden cooed soft, meaningless replies, as his throat was too raspy to assume his typical airs of speech. Azula shushed him often in her honey-like tone, informing him that he would irritate his gullet all the more if he kept talking. The princess did not have high expectations for his understanding of what she said, but she found it a bit more relaxing to voice her concerns aloud.

Seeing that Raiden's temperature was failing to decrease, Azula gently rose from her seat, sat the boy on a changing table, and swiftly removed his shirt to cool him down. As she tenderly weaved the garment over his shoulders, she could not help but notice just how hot he felt to her touch. The baby whimpered weakly, though it was all too obvious to the princess that her son was in a gods-awful amount of pain.

Over the past days, she had tried in desperation to keep some fluids in him. He was at least keeping them down, though, but it had been a vigorous effort on her part. His stomach was unable to handle solids, but at least he was gaining something through the duration of his illness. While she had him up, she decided that she might as well make another attempt to keep him from dehydrating. Having set a few filled bottles of water beforehand, she promptly grabbed one and inserted the nipple squarely into his mouth.

It took little Raiden a good fifteen or twenty minutes or so just to empty out the first bottle, and after doing so, he rapidly let out a burp. The simple action alone pained his insides, and he was quick to let out a squeal. Azula took note as the children stalled their game to glimpse at Raiden. One boy of a set of identical twins, just about three years of age, voiced some sort of jumbled message aloud to the others, and, as if on cue, they all turned their heads back and resumed whatever it was they were doing.

Pleased that there were no wandering eyes on her now, Azula hoisted Raiden's head up to her shoulder and rocked him in the chair. A nap would do him good at the moment, considering that his belly was full and he was subdued for the time being. She tickled his ear with pleasing words, and, as usual, caressed his fine wisps of hair. His hair was looking to be the same color as his father's: that fawn, sunlit brown. Well, every feature, aside from the baby's visibly yellow eyes and his crooked smile, reminded Azula of her husband. Even the way his face was proportioned gave indication as to who fathered him. Though the princess had, at first, been disappointed by the obviousness of her son's features, she couldn't be more pleased now. Her babe had a proud heritage, despite the implications of this creation.

As she continued to twirl his beautiful hair between her stroking fingertips, Azula began to notice the transfixed gaze that graced her son's weary features. Raiden' eyes were wide and curious, despite their shadowed and dull appearance. He voiced a wordless phrase over her shoulder, a continuous string of babbles joined by an unrestrained point of his left index finger.

Princess Azula rolled her golden eyes at him and let out a sigh of exhaustion. "Raiden, honey," she whispered, her fingers now tracing Raiden's chin, "Mommy doesn't want you playing on the floor."

To this, the fatigued but obviously alert baby boy outstretched the rest of his fingers, his lip quivering as a chill took over him. It barely affected him at all; he was simply too fascinated by the other children.

He let out a weakly playful squeal, and revealed a tiny smile.

"Sweetie, you need a nap," Azula declared in response, repositioning Raiden so that his head was atop her breast. The babe often was soothed by the sound of his mother's heartbeat, but, again, he showed no indication of tiredness. He lifted himself up, and pointed at the kids in the distance, the tip of his finger directed mainly at a girl in a plain, slovenly dress, its hem split. She had a hairless doll and a few wooden blocks in her hand. Carefully, the young girl settled the blocks in a crooked rectangle and sat the doll within it.

She looked up with her nose high in the air, obviously a bit arrogant for a child of her class. "Dolly's house," she said to the twin boys, who effectively set about in destroying her creation. They tumbled over each other, their laughs mirrored as their hands swiped the blocks and scattered them.

"Mine!" the girl shrieked, looking at Azula for some sort of guidance. Azula exhaled and stood up, walking over to the three with Raiden tight in her embrace.

She bent over and sat on her knees, helping to pick up the blocks strewn nearby. "Boys," she said, hesitating, as she had no experience in dealing with the squabbles of multiple children, "why did you do this?"

The boys shrugged their shoulders in unison, their eyes not on hers but on Raiden's.

"I don't know," one said, in a tone that was more a mutter than a reply. Upon the utterance, the two of them, in synchrony, lowered their heads, their chins pressing into their chests. Raiden eyed them.

"Well, don't do it again," Azula said, still hesitant. "You both promise?"

"Yes," came the matched reply.

Then the princess offered one a soft pat to the shoulder. "All right," she said with a warm chuckle, "go on and play."

They did not falter at this command; they, hand-in-hand and laughing cheerfully, turned away from the princess, and darted off. They crashed to the floor, one falling on top of the other. The taller of the two wriggled free from his entrapment and grabbed hold of one of Raiden's old rattles from his infancy, and slammed it on the carpet. Upon the sound, Raiden let out a wail, voicing his jealousy, and again letting his mother know that he, indeed, wanted to join the other children.

"Okay, sweetie," the finally defeated mother sighed, setting herself down on her knees, "but just for a few minutes."

Tenderly setting her son's bottom on the floor, Azula released the feverish baby from her protective grasp. He rose up, and began toddling wearily over to the captivating group of children. Because his muscles ached from his fever, he quickly took a tumble, but, like the little trooper his mother knew he was, he shook it off, and simply crawled his way over. Reaching his companions, he seized hold of a stuffed brown bear, one modeled to look like the famous Bosco of Ba Sing Se. Raiden hugged the bear close, clutching it to his hot chest.

Azula, weary herself from dedicating her whole day to caring for a sickly child and many more rowdy ones, sighed mesmerizingly, watching her boy in fascination. She thought back to his birth, the difficulties of it, and how everything occurring thereafter was then a blessing. Azula felt deeply in the recesses of her heart that her insane rage, all that pent up anger she had held at the world and those who had supposedly wronged her, had left her the moment she brought preemie baby Raiden to her breast and gave him her life. Staring lovingly at him now, she could not put herself up to believing that there was a brief time during her imprisonment where she had hated the very sight of him, freshly born and naked before her, but there was, and it created a twinge at her heart. Of course, watching Raiden hug that stuffed bear melted away the memory. It made her think of his genuine love for her, his intimate closeness, and that if that toy was in reality her neck he was hugging, he would have embraced it with as much love, if not a whole lot more.

But a harsh rasping sound from the fifteen-month-old's throat caught her off guard. Just ahead of her, Raiden dropped the bear, and held a clenched fist to his lips as a round of several hoarse coughs seized him.

"Mommy…" he managed to choke as tears began to streak down his cheeks. Heart racing in maternal panic, Azula rushed over to him, stealing him away from his newfound friends. She took a seat back down on her rocking chair and placed the weeping Raiden against her chest. With delicate hands, she rubbed his back, and helped him get over the spell. Within a few agonizing minutes, the coughs slowed, and he closed his tear-glistened eyes. He then gave an honest attempt to that nap his worried mother had mentioned a few minutes prior.

Startled by the prince's outburst, the servants' children all crawled over to the foot of Azula's chair, curiosity snatching them from their previous amusements.

"What's wrong with him, lady?" asked the girl with the bald doll. She stood up and rested her hands on Azula's knees. "Is he sick bad?"

Azula found herself a bit shocked by the little girl's sudden approach, and, most of all, her concern for the nation's future Firelord, but she ignored the nagging feeling, and informed the children that Raiden was going to be fine.

"Sometimes kids get sick easily when they're growing," she said, smiling down on her sniffling baby, who had since opened his eyes and was effectively hiding his face in Azula's chest. Suddenly, when the attention was all on him, those kids were a lot less interesting…

"He's pretty hot with a fever right now," Azula continued on, putting a palm to Raiden's rosy red cheek, "but he'll get over it soon." Her voice was assuring enough, and at least the twins were convinced. They eased off and went back to playing their game on the floor. The girl, however, stayed right where she was, with her hands still grasping the princess' knees.

"Why is he hiding like that, lady?" the girl questioned, her inquiries growing alongside her interest in Azula's ailing son. "Does he not like us?" When this came from the girl, her lip slightly curled, like she had done wrong to Raiden. That, or she was afraid to be reprimanded for suggesting such a thing.

But Azula sweetly smiled at the girl, and touched her gaunt shoulder, reassuring her, "Its okay, sweetie. You did nothing wrong. He's just very shy."

"Oh, okay, lady," she replied, sighing in relief. "How do I make him not be shy anymore, lady?"

Azula pondered this for a moment, blame falling on herself for this question. Raiden's insistence on being skittish was a result of her own doing. Hesitant to associate him with others around him, Azula had scarred him from interactions he so desperately needed.

"Well," she finally suggested, "you could try to prove to him that you're not scary."

The girl turned around and gazed about the room, her eyes landing on the Bosco bear Raiden had been cuddling with just a few minutes ago. She let go of Azula's knees and skipped over to the toy, which was on its side. Grabbing it by its neck, she ran back over, and held it out, offering it to Raiden.

In response to the gesture, Azula tapped Raiden's back, which caused him to raise his head off her breast and look down at the toy being handed to him. "Look, sweetie," she uttered tenderly in his ear. "Do you want to play with Bosco? She's giving him to you."

Slowly, Raiden lifted his tiny hand out and extended his fingers, cautiously readying himself to grab his prize, but, before he could, his nerves got the best of him, and that hand retreated back atop his mother's bosom. He grabbed hold of the cut in the neck of her dress, and buried his face.

"Come on, Raiden," Azula urged. She duly sat him up off her chest and settled him into her lap. "Don't you want to play with Bosco again? Don't be afraid, sweetie."

The little girl tantalizingly wiggled Bosco's stuffed neck, imitating the world-renown bear by giggling out a few funny-sounding roars.

This was enough to garner the scared little boy's attention. He, again, withdrew his hand and this time touched his beloved toy. He took it out of the friendly girl's arms, and placed it to his cheek, nuzzling it. Still tired from all he had accomplished today, he released a few quick coughs and sprawled his legs and free arm around Azula's belly, soaking in her warmth.

But the girl was far from done, feeling her act of kindness deserved more than it got. She complained, "My mommy always says we should say, 'thank you,' lady. He should thank me for being nice."

Azula rolled her eyes, but decided the girl, in all her infinite wisdom, was right. However, in defense of her precious son, she said, "Raiden can't talk very well because his throat hurts, but I'm sure he appreciates you giving him –"

"Thank… you," Raiden managed to squeak out, hearing the conversation going on about him. He gave the girl a stare down, but determined that his job was done. He surrendered himself to sleep, and aligned himself back against Azula. His face settled down into the crook of Azula's neck after he granted his Bosco bear an appreciative hug.

Azula wrapped her arms around Raiden. "Now, what do you say?" she asked the girl.

She paused with uncertainty. "Uhm, you're welcome…"

"All right," Azula sighed, "you go run along and play so Raiden can take his nap. Go on."

The girl sped off without saying another word and plopped onto the floor with the boys. As ready as she was to join her son in a well-deserved snooze, Azula kept her vigilant watch on her brood, and surveyed their construction of a tower, until each child, one after the other, submitted to an afternoon nap themselves.

Once Azula was sure they all were asleep, she laughed to herself, amused by all that had happened this day.

"Maybe I should miss royal ceremonies more often," she chuckled, planting then a kiss to Raiden's warm forehead. She rose out of her rocking chair, and walked around the room. With her free arm, she grabbed a few extra blankets. Standing above the twin boys, who were napping side-by-side, she swathed them both in the same sheet, and moved on to the girl. She was sleeping on her spine with her hair-chopped doll lying haphazardly on her belly, about ready to fall off and be rolled on if the girl turned just the right way. Azula bent over and rescued the worn doll from certain death, and placed it back on the girl's chest. Unfolding the last blanket, Azula draped it around her, and walked back over to her chair. Raiden stirred slightly, and began snoring. He emitted a humming sound, and commenced dreaming whatever it was he dreamed about. Azula tickled his hair between her fingers like she always did, and basked finally in the quietness of the room.


	7. Cold Feet

**Author's Note: Another update. Man, I write portions of several of these oneshots and never finish them. Then I write one that, for some reason, gets to be completed. Weird.**

**I'm back to my tendonitis days, where writing is a hellish task, so that's why I haven't been too active. Don't laugh at the reason, though. I ended up resetting my old injuries by folding too many fliers for my company's heating and cooling sponsor. Awesome, right? However, unlike the hell on Earth that was the Meijer franchise, Home Depot's taking it very well, and I don't even NEED a doctor's note to operate the self-checkouts! Because of that, they are doing a lot better, and I'll probably be out of my wrist braces in a week! Yay!**

**Enjoy this one! I think I succeeded with it! Hope you like it too!**

Cold Feet

After kissing two-day-old Raiden goodnight with a loving peck to his pink cheek, Azula rose from the edge of his crib and wandered to her bedroom window. She cautiously opened it –praying in inaudible mutters that the squeal in the hinges would not wake her son from what was already expected to be a very short late-night nap –and peered outside. A whirl of placid wind rolled against her cheeks, and teased the green-leafed tree that stood high above the turtleduck pond into performing a spontaneous, starlit dance. The pond below, highlighted by the yellow streaks of the crescent moon, rippled in unison to the tree. The bands of yellow at the surface of the pool waved too, in a speedier pattern, like hands gesturing a greeting to the princess.

Tempted to wave right back, Azula lifted her arm out the window, and felt the stream of air suddenly change direction. Hitting the palm of her slightly cupped hand, the princess found herself imagining an idea of holding air outside her body than just holding it inside of her.

She sucked in a wisp of the flowing air, tasting what, to her, seemed like a stream of a scent of food carried in the distance beyond the palace, where a festival was taking place. She diverted her eyes in an upward direction, noticing immediately a barrage of fireworks –in her viewpoint, they appeared as sprinkling specks so far away –fleeing from the ground on which they were released. Their hues were indiscernible, though some looked somewhat darker than others. To Azula, their faraway appearance made her think of stars fighting for their lives and finally exploding in space upon their deaths, their shriveled, flittering ends like the chunks that ultimately survive the blast.

Azula glanced back at Raiden, sighing in relief in knowing that the fireworks' booms were quiet enough to resume without waking the two-day-old. After a second, she turned back to the outside, where a new noise emerged: the voices of excited people, cheering in reverence to the exploding spectacles lighting the night sky. Without realizing it, those happy Fire Nation dwellers were applauding the mingling of both fire and air.

The princess' heart rattled in regret then. She reminded herself of the days over three years prior, when the Fire Nation still believed strongly in the occupation of the Earth Kingdom, and the occupations that took down and attempted to take down the Air Temples and Water Tribes respectively. Her thoughts still clinging to the wind that resumed blowing against her pale face, Azula put into her mind a realization that even the people of the Fire Nation needed air to breathe, and at once, they took it away when the monks and nuns of the Air Temples were expunged. For one hundred years, the people of the Fire Nation allowed themselves to suffocate in their hunger for conquering the territories of others. And after the Air Temples were wiped off the face of the earth, there too went the concept of a pure, quenched thirst when their desires moved to melting the Water Tribes. After laying waste to the Southern Tribe and all but failing to seize control in the north, Fire Nation water became a bitter substance to taste, as it was a reminder to the people of a gift of necessity from the enemy. And once the colonies, and, lastly, Ba Sing Se came into the picture, the earth became a rattling, unsettling place to land, and by yearning for its seizure, it crumbled to nothingness, leading the whole Fire Nation into a pit of defeat.

The analogy, in its conclusion, Azula realized, answered in its own way why there was a need for balance in the world: a question even the wisest of Fire Sages failed to find an answer for.

If only, she sighed despairingly as a strand of a loose bang tickled the already wind-tingled skin of her neck, her imprisoned father had the capacity to grasp what she understood now. There still lingered an absence of concern for the other nations in his mind and soul, and, in all probability, it destroyed his every days. There was perhaps an acrid staleness to the air he breathed –the smell of decay and sweat and excrements were like a clot to the purity of the wind. There existed probably a metal flavor to his water the warden or his orderlies served him at mealtime. And within his square cell, the ground on which he stood or slept was stained by dirt, the rotten meals he perhaps ignored, or even bile if he felt so compelled to empty himself of his poisons.

Azula shuddered at the thought of his anguish, and wondered if she would dare ever visit him in prison, or even allow him the chance to see the grandchild that was apparently his idea to create. Did Raiden need to know of him or his deeds to the universe, or was the baby boy better off not knowing a war or its last living headmaster existed at all?

A loud exhale exited at her lips and she focused her attention back to the colorful show that was occurring outside. The sequences of fireworks had seemed to lessen slightly, and none appeared quite as extravagant as those that had exploded in the previous minutes. The shrieks of those watching them had died down too, and their screams of joy instantly were replaced with dull thuds of footfalls in perfect rhythm. A dance was commencing in the square beyond, and though Azula herself was unable to see it, she recognized the dance as one created by wayward peasants living out their days in the war-torn streets, making –in the midst of the struggle –some form of hope come alive. Today, the thuds came down with a louder purpose, with more than a few peasants' feet slamming upon the ground. Azula was sure the upperclassmen in the crowds were joining in too –as so, possibly, was her brother, Firelord Zuko, who had initiated the festivities on behalf of the newly-created nation he was overseeing. Azula could almost see him dancing with hands grasping hands from people of the other nations. Red extravagance blended in a sea of greens, blues, whites, yellows, blacks, browns…

A pitchy wail startled Azula into practically pouncing off her feet. Shocked, she peered over her shoulder, her hand clutching her rapidly beating chest, and found herself staring at the exhausted, red, cabbage-shaped face of her saddened son. His arms flailed in protest and his palms grew tight in rage, his bones of his knuckles practically splitting through his skin. Azula stepped over to him, noticing in an instant the reason for Raiden's outburst.

His blanket, though several inches longer than his petite, preemie body, had been kicked off his toes, which were exposed and sockless and made cold by the wind whistling in through the window.

Azula shook her head, surrendering a chuckle. Of all the reasons to have a temper, her two-day-old chose this one. Well, she could not blame him. In her rush to see the fireworks from afar, the frazzled new mother had neglected to put socks on the newborn's tiny feet.

She lifted Raiden out of his crib and bundled him in the white blanket the nurses at the Boiling Rock's hospital ward had wrapped him up in after he was born. Walking him to his changing table, she set him on his back. She shushed him in soft, melodious whispers as she unrolled a pair of red socks. Dropping one next to him on the table, she took the other and held it open, attempting in vain to place it on his foot. Despite wanting warmth on every inch of his body, baby Raiden protested his mother's act of clothing his feet. He wailed frantically until Azula somehow managed to put the sock on his rapidly kicking left foot.

Raiden quieted himself. His toes wriggled curiously inside the sock, and he quickly decided he liked the sudden change. He allowed his mother a bout of silence as she seized hold of his other foot. Before sliding it into the sock, Azula gave it a kiss and let out a laugh, to which he gazed at her with wonder. Her son was an unpredictable one, but she loved him nonetheless.

Once she finished, she swaddled him back into the cover, lifted him up, and rested his head upon her slender shoulder. The tiny baby boy, now worn out from his outburst, nudged his face deep into her neck, and released a warm puff of air against her skin. Azula gently walked over to the window and stared out into the night as the finale of the fireworks show commenced. The biggest, most extravagant firework of all soared through the sky and dispersed in a thunderous boom. Now that he was close enough to hear the sounds the fireworks had been making while he had been sleeping, Raiden slowly turned his head to the noise as a similar spark brightened the navy blue of the night sky. Though it was beautiful to Azula, the two-day-old's opinion was quite different. Like any noise of disturbance, he let out yet another fit of rage, and scooted himself down until he was effectively buried in Azula's chest, where he muffled his cries.

Azula playfully rolled her eyes. Enough was enough for this young little life. She elbowed the window shut, drowning the noises outside it to barely audible thumps, dull and quiet –much to the relief of the princess. Raiden, however, in his inability to calm himself on his own, depended on his thankful mother to shush him back into sleeping again. To this, she ran a hand down the back of his skull, all the way down to the base of his spine. If there was one sound he loved the most, Azula knew, it was her heartbeat, and she effectively positioned his body and turned his head so he could hear the familiar drumming rhythm in his ear. He silenced himself almost immediately, and down went his eyelids. Soon enough, his exhales grew into a pattern, and the new mother knew the baby's agony was over. Azula tiptoed her way to Raiden's crib and disentangled him from the bundle. She rested him flat against the mattress and pulled the blanket over his belly. With one last kiss to his rosebud cheek, she sent him to his dreams, to the soundless realm of peace, where he stayed until the dawn hour sun peeked ever-so-colorfully over the horizon.


	8. A Letter To Her Son

**Author's Note: Two essays in Barbara Kingsolver's 2002 essay collection, entitled, **_**Small Wonder**_** inspired this probably everyday idea. James Patterson's sad, sad 2001 novel, **_**Suzanne's Diary For Nicholas, **_**a book I read a good eight months ago or so, ****did as well. This is just a letter Azula writes to Raiden upon the day his first month of life comes to pass. I think I'll make Chan write one too, but, honestly, Azula's will be more important than his and probably far longer. And, in all probability, more worth a reader's attention. I also want to say that Azula's style in this is quite eloquent, not because that is my style, but because I think Azula –in her prodigious ways –would have an extraordinary talent for writing. She is a genius, after all!**

**This update might be a perfect time to remind all who read this that Azula is, as I have stated so many times, completely OOC from the show's characterization. To some of those without basic back knowledge to the story of where Raiden came from (I praise anyone that is new to this series for giving it a worthwhile read and decent review), this story would probably serve as a dose of mushy mommy stuff –so, if you are in that hateful category of the human race, don't leave a review that so obviously shows this (because, if you do, then I hope people –and I, if I am so compelled –spam you to kingdom come for your idiocy)! To those that have read the story, this fic is like a refresher of sorts.**

**I also want to take the time to say this: this letter correlates with my ideas for my revisited version of 'Beautiful Dawn,' and, in effect, I might be revealing a few… **_**unpublished **_**facts and things, but not too many… So, if you notice something that doesn't quite fit with what you know about the old 'Beautiful Dawn,' just figure it is something I have changed and will add to the new version.**

**Enjoy!**

A Letter To Her Son

Azula held in a rather unusually wobbly hand a calligraphy brush, its tip black with ink ready to either drip or scribe at any given moment. In front of her, upon the table was a blank piece of parchment, flattened by calligraphy stationary. Its purpose was to be a letter to her son, Raiden, now, officially, as of the day, one month old.

But what to say in a letter addressed to such a tiny life? What to say in a letter that he would read in the coming years when his childhood was behind him? The typically eloquent, prodigal writer inside Azula trembled and made way for what seemed to be a decline in her gift. Like the incoherent babbling toddler her son was going to become in the months ahead of him, the princess found herself simply at a loss for those moving words she was known for as she stared at the flat white sheet before her.

But only a mere turn of the head gave her all the inspiration she needed. The sound of preemie baby Raiden sleeping –in light, tender traces of breath –inside his crib, was moving enough to ease on the words to say…

…

_Dear Raiden,_

_Congratulations to us both, my son. It seems in such short time that we have both reached a similar milestone. For you, you have lived an entire month outside of my belly, outside of the prison in which Daddy and I conceived you. For me, I, too, have existed outside that said prison for the exact amount of time._

_I suppose after reading that opening paragraph that you will be wondering how it came to be that you started your precious little life inside a prison keep. I do not know myself how long I expect to keep your –and my –true past away from you. Perhaps this letter will be the first time you hear of it, or not, but, if I never get it off my chest verbally to you, then this letter will do the truth justice._

_How do I begin to tell you this? Well, honestly, in a time you will never know, beyond old stories and scrolls and monuments, I lived in wretchedness, as the total opposite of the mommy you know and love so well. I despised those lower than me, even those of my own country –including my closest friends, Mai and Ty Lee, and even your loving grandmother. I despised also the countries beyond my reach (the Water Tribes, the now defunct Air Temples, and especially the Earth Kingdom), and, like my father –a man still drawn in by evil, I'm afraid –I wanted to wipe them off the face of the earth and paint the world map crimson. And, truth be told, my dad and I came very close to doing just that. But then, like in every bedtime scroll I will ever read you when I tuck you into bed, a hero came along and vanquished the evil._

_I spent a period of three years rotting in a prison cell for my participation in crimes against humanity, and also for taking complete and utter leave of my senses upon the day of my fall. After spending a year wrought with anger, I grew to silence, where I remained until a sudden visitor came to see me two years later –soon after I turned seventeen. That visitor, as you might be guessing, was your daddy._

_I did not love your father then, and was disturbed that life-changing night by his brazen act to… oh, how does a first-time mother delicately say this, as not to scar her innocent child for life? Well, for lack of a better phrase, I suppose I would say: Daddy's brazen act to make a baby with me._

_And we did make a baby when he visited me, and that baby was you._

_Although I did not see what a blessing our union was until after you were born, I still kept you –albeit vengefully –inside of my womb during my stay at the prison as my own little secret (though I believe a certain earthbender may have had an idea)… Chan was absent throughout the entirety of your fetal existence, and, in turn, he missed out on witnessing the absolute miracle of your birth, which I do sincerely regret._

_What a day that was, though; I remember it vividly, with the perfect clarity of one without the capacity to forget. Even the tiniest detail, it seems –even in the haze I was under during the hours upon hours of pain I felt as you slipped from my womb –has not escaped me. I remember the voices I heard, from my mother, to the nurses who swarmed all around my bent knees and coached me throughout the delivery. And even the voice of a certain waterbender whom I once loathed. I recall every centimeter of dilation I reached that the doctors in the facility monitored and brought to my attention aloud. I can bring to mind with ease the ten-second durations they demanded of me, and the one that finally coaxed you out of me…_

_But, most of all, I remember your valiant cry of life –your first intake of breath – which was, to me at the time, just the sound of something unimportant, a sound I would never hear again in any form or volume._

_No, I did not love you. Though I kept you to myself while I was pregnant, I was eager after your birth to give you away, especially after I found out you were a little boy. You see, back then, I thought having a son was only for those of affluence with some sort of title and extensive earnings to pass on to them. As I –having been stripped of my olden title of crown princess –had neither of these, I thought you an entirely useless individual, a perfect candidate for adoption, or, better yet, immediate death for scorning me and invading my womb._

_I wanted you dead, and if I had acted upon this desire, my baby boy, you would not be here today, one month old and sleeping and dreaming your baby dreams. You would be naught but ashes buried in a box so deep underground. A soul with no gravestone to mark your passage onto and beyond the earth._

_In truth, I would have never regretted losing you, because, as a prisoner, you never were really mine in the first place._

_But how did you become mine?_

_You should thank your grandmother (when you learn to talk, of course) –each and every time you see her! You became mine because Grandma Ursa is a very powerful woman, and she firmly stood her ground against the forces of the law that deemed you property of the Firelord and no one else. But Grandma Ursa did something else for the both of us. She literally brought us together: you, as a premature, wriggling, scarcely-clothed bundle, into my timid arms._

_That first time I held you against me, my first thought, beyond how uncomfortable I felt about holding something I knew at the time that I should not be getting attached to, was just how weightless you were, how frail you felt to me, like a feather inside a balloon wrapped in tissue. And, in a flash of conscience, I realized then that your tininess was my fault. In my keeping you a secret, I failed to nurture your little body as you grew inside of me, and I knew then that it was my responsibility to make up for letting you down. I nervously let down my breast for you to nurse, and, in turn, confidently gave myself up entirely for you._

_I broke my barriers –those thick barriers I had built up upon so many years of living in hatred and turmoil –at that very moment you latched on to me. In a period of years my brother had spent trying to break me free of my madness, it turned out the only thing I needed was you…_

_And now, I am out of prison, and I have you, and you're mine –and Daddy's. Speaking of which, when you turned one week old, you and I went to see Daddy for the first time. We took a ferry up to Ember Island, which was where your daddy's family relocated after the century-long war ceased._

_Daddy was surprised to see me standing at the door after I knocked upon it, out of my faded red prison attire and cradling you in a white bundle. I stood as a stark contrast to my last image in his eyes. He remembered me as someone weak, feeble, easily overwhelmed, but no longer was I that hollow person. I entered your daddy's home with a taste of anger so terribly bitter against my tongue, but a cry you let out then relaxed my rage. Like how a soft touch from a loved one soothes a person, you seemed to pacify me with your voice, and I took it as my cue to hand you over to Daddy._

_Just as I had experienced a sort of reemergence when I first embraced you inside that prison, your father did too. He hesitated, just as I did a week before, but he took you into his arms and rocked you so gently that it seemed so outside his hardened character._

_Oh, but how beautiful that moment was. I saw the sparkle in Daddy's eyes when he looked into yours. The two of you together, in such harmony as he cradled you, I myself could not hold back what was really on my mind that day._

_Marriage._

_I had to marry your father –in order for us all to live together as a family. For how could it be justified for Chan to live in the palace without being wed to me? But the image of marriage was not my reason for proposing it. My true reason was simple: I carried his baby –you, my darling –almost to term, just to realize that the whole time, I actually was deeply in love with him. He gave me you as a precious gift, although your conception was far from it, and if he had never visited me that night, I never would have had the chance to find redemption._

_In a way, I owed him my gratitude, and, too, I owed you a decent father –like the one I thought I had but didn't. I could not raise you alone, even with assistance from my mother and Uncle Zuzu. You needed that wonderful and endearing man, just as much as I did, and when I asked him to marry me, you know what he said?_

_Well, he said, yes._

_And, now, he and I have raised you for three weeks. In our being married, we have discovered that your personality is already starting to sprout. Despite being so small still, you have quite the strong little lungs. You, my son, are a colicky one, and you know how to keep Daddy and I awake for hours on end. You cry before a feeding, during (usually right as I switch breasts), and after ceaselessly. You cry when you're soiled, and even when you're not. You cry when Daddy and I stand above you in your crib, with your arms outstretched, insisting that either one of us to pick you up and love you in our way._

_You know, many servants often ask me how I can handle such an attention-seeking baby, and, with earnest, I tell them that, even despite the lack of sleep it causes, I look forward to your loud demands. Why? Because of something my mother told me once. Whenever a woman hears the cries of a baby –her own, as well as any other infant –her heart flutters. It is a tingle of joy that settles deep within my bosom, in the deepest recesses of my heart, when I hear you cry out for me. No matter what reason you have –whether it be that your tummy hurts or you're hungry for my milk, it does not matter –I am taken over by this seizure of happiness for being needed by someone for means other than criminal gain (the only real reason anybody ever needed me before the war ended). You need me to love you, to nurture you, to help you grow and one day take your first strident steps into the world. And you love me right back, by smiling that silly, toothless smile of yours that turns so many heads. You nurture me right back, by helping me forget all those wasted years I spent in denial. And you help me grow, by molding and shaping me into the woman I am today._

_I never want to forget your precious babyhood, mostly due to the fact that you will, for your permanent memories have yet to settle in. Later in your life, when you can talk and hold your own, you will remember me not as a feeding station with a heartbeat, but as your living, breathing mother, someone who will stand up for you when you ask it, defend you when others feel need to take you down. I hate to be the bearer of this news, but when you emerge into the world on your own two feet, there will be people out to prey upon you for the past you hold deep within you. My life before the war's end is dead inside of you –I know that with all my heart –but others won't be able to see that. You will be taunted; you will be teased, but you will be strong, and I will fight alongside you._

_But that portion of your future is for another day, sweetie._

_I want to think about what is now, and how I can hold it forever. I believe the greatest way to keep the pictures vivid in my head is to make them. In just three weeks, the court painter has already painted some fifteen or twenty portraits of you, all at my urging. Some are of you alone, some are paintings either of me or Daddy sitting with you, and others are portraits of us all together –the whole family: me, you, Daddy, Grandma Ursa, Uncle Zuzu, and Auntie Mai. I think, of all the pictures the court painter has memorialized for me, my favorite one of all is just of you. Painted when you turned fourteen days old, you were entirely nude –all but for a cloth diaper upon your bottom –lying upon a quilt with the prints of the four nations sewn into it (a gift that was, surprisingly, made by Water Tribe girl, Katara). Your face was bright with playful merriment. Wide open was your mouth, your tongue curled atop your toothless gums. Your right hand was tightly coiled around one of the blanket's four corners, and the other hand was extended, stretched forward in my direction. Beyond the picture, I was sitting beside the court painter –your favorite stuffed toy of the Earth King's famous Bear, Bosco (a congratulatory gift from the Earth King) wriggling in my grasp –coaxing you into an interesting position for the piece. Your left thumb and forefinger were adjoined in a delicate circle, and your pinkie was erect. In a way, I laughed when I first saw the painting in its completion, presenting it immediately to Daddy when it dried, it seemed like you were readying to drink from an invisible tea cup._

_I love looking at that painting; I peer at it hanging upon the wall opposite my and Daddy's bed each morning when I wake. I look forward to many more little sessions with the painter, and eagerly anticipate making other memories with you. I anticipate in my mind what your humming squeal of a voice will sound like when it formulates its first words. I tease myself and think of you calling me, "Mama," just to imagine what it will sound like and how it will come forth from your lips. I'm sure Daddy wonders a similar thing when you coo in his ear. The way I see his eyes meet yours, I just know in my heart he is looking inside of you, finding the words deep within your gurgles and cries._

_Yours is to be the voice of a Firelord someday, preaching righteousness to a future generation of Fire Nation citizens. Because Mai and Zuko cannot give the people an heir and you a cousin, they decided to hand their title to you, to still ensure the purity of the lordly line. Though it may be years before you take the throne, I know deeply that you will rule with a great sense of respect to the world. You will heed to the needs of your people, and rule them kindly. You will rule like your uncle before you: with soft gentleness to the sympathies of others, but with hard justice to those who deserve it. You will help keep balance in a so far stable world, keep the other nations and your own from teetering into devastation. There will be no wars in your time; I know this. Your reign will be during an even greater era of peace than the one we are in now. You will make history through your discipline and earn your place as a great hero and protector._

_Oh, I'm fantasizing too much, I suppose. How can I know what the world will be like in the distant future? You're only a month old, and only about the size of a mature newborn, with no mind to the nation that surrounds you. You have no concepts to think about, beyond those that deem you needy of a meal, a change, a nap, and so few other things._

_I cannot believe the fortune the spirits bequeathed me with, a fortune that lies in the pattern of the events that have lead to this day. From what I have written so far, you know the story now: from the madness, to the silence, to the growing seed that would come forth from me in the beautiful form of you. As I gaze at you now, and pause my writing of this letter, I see you stirring, your hands clenching and unclenching. One of your legs kicks suddenly; you express a sound almost like a hiccup, and I know now that my time to write you this letter is nearing its end._

_Congratulations on reaching one month of life, Raiden. I have a feeling the months ahead will go fast, and the years after them too will speed by, but I will make them last. I will make them memorable. So memorable I shall make them, that when you're older I'll be able to embarrass you and maybe even surprise you with a few of your babyhood tales._

_But in babyhood you remain for today. Don't grow up too fast, Raiden. Just continue to make me laugh and shed tears in the sheer joy of having you in my life to guide me and be the healer of all my past wounds._

_I love you, Raiden, and I always will._

_Your loving mother,_

_Azula_


	9. A Morning With Raiden

**Author's Note: This is a nice, lengthy, uninhibited oneshot –my longest in this series so far, actually. But, oh, how sweet it was to write! I love writing the peaceful side of Azula; I love making her motherly when the Avatar community thinks she shouldn't be. Honestly, who wouldn't be genuinely moved by the interactions between a mother and her child, no matter who that mother may be?**

**Let this be a warning in advance to anyone interested in reading on. I suppose this chapter might be insinuated at a high T or low M-rating, since it features heavily detailed accounts of breastfeeding. Proceed with caution, for you have been warned. Later updates in my revisited version of 'Beautiful Dawn' will see accounts of the act with a similarly descriptive degree, a stark contrast to the very watered down instances the old story got. To refresh any memories, in 'Beautiful Dawn,' Ursa requested that Azula nurse Raiden after he was born in the Boiling Rock, thus making breastfeeding not just symbolic in the writing sense (look at how John Steinbeck used it as a plot device in the conclusion of his 1939 novel, **_**The Grapes of Wrath**_**), but highly significant to the princess' relationship with her son. As it stands, this oneshot here was me wetting my feet as a writer, and I figured: well, if the world can read about graphic sex in stories, a fanfic or two depicting a woman breastfeeding her baby shouldn't be frowned upon. If you're a little kid, don't read this; if you're an immature teenager or adult, don't read this!**

**As for those who feel they can conduct themselves maturely, however, please review, fave, and send me your thoughts, pretty please! I'd love to see what you all think! Remember also –before you post something ridiculous –that this oneshot (and all the ones in this collection) is part of an Azula redemption story, so she is extremely OOC from the show's rendition of her character…**

**Enjoy! Feel free to feel really sorry for Azula when you get to the end of this one!**

A Morning With Raiden

A pink sunrise showcased itself through a curtained window of the ornate bedroom. It was a soft pink, not sharp and piercing to the eyes. A pale blue streaked around it, almost like a blanket of sorts, cuddling its billowed arms around the color. And just beneath a set of distant trees below, the sun, slowly emerging as if being reborn again, peeked through the blurry green leaves.

The curtain around the window danced briefly and went still. A morning dove hummed a simple tune and quieted itself. It must have then flown off, for the fluttering of its wings was heard just beyond the window.

It was not long before a yellow ray casted itself through the rectangle opening, lighting the red sheets of the single king-sized bed in the room.

Though already awake, Azula stirred, stretching herself under the covers. Flipping them over, she sat up, pulled a single stray tress from her forehead, and yawned. It seemed so blissfully quiet in her bedroom. There were no servants knocking upon the royal door, no husband snoring next to her, no chatter or footsteps from the hallway.

There was but one sound audible, and it was a most wonderful sound. She turned and crawled lightly over to the edge of the bed, the side nearest to the window. Meeting the angle of which the sun's rays were still hitting her room, she stared, with a warm smile, below them.

Her tiny, little breathing sweetheart, Raiden's perfectly white crib lay there. It sparkled under the sunbeam, making it look impossibly bright and untouched.

Azula rose from the bed and to her feet, faintly disrupting the fragment of light. Listening intently, she could better hear the mild sound of Raiden's airy snores. Looking down on him, she noted he was somewhat turned on his side, his sleeping visage facing her. His expression was charming: the left side of his lip was upturned in the slightest degree, causing his typically crooked smile to look a lot less odd; his right thumb was just barely grazing his lips (the glint of sunlight revealed that the digit was coated with spittle, meaning that he had been sucking on it recently); his hair had not a knot in it (each long, fawn wisp hugged his head); and his chest protruded and fell in perfect rhythm.

The princess sat back down again, the mattress beneath her groaning. She sighed, reflecting on how miserable the last eight hours had been. Her baby had cried for four hours straight, complaining even though a short feeding. Even as he slept now, she could just imagine how hungry he probably was, and how grumpy he was probably going to be when he woke up.

But she then decided to ignore those imminent possibilities and instead think about what was at present. In the few weeks he had been alive, waking up to only his snores had been a rarity. Azula was an optimistic mother, for she believed Raiden was getting closer and closer to overcoming the colic he was diagnosed with just a short week after his birth, despite the stiff pediatrician's less hopeful opinion. Even so, colicky kids, as the myth read (a myth a young and undoubtedly naive mother like Azula prided herself on believing), were inclined to grow up calm and reserved. But this mom was not about to wish her son's babyhood away…

Azula's little infant stirred in his rocking crib, his legs stretching smoothly down the mattress beneath him. Wriggling himself into wakefulness, Raiden curled his dainty hands into loose fists, and rested them at the protrusions of his cheeks. His toothless mouth opened, and he let out a yawn, which, as it slipped from his pink lips, sounded almost like a yip.

Upon hearing him, Azula rose, bent over, and soothingly lifted the teeny, undersized child out of his bed. She held Raiden at an arm's length from her body, staring deeply into his barely open gray eyes as she rocked him. He released another yawn at his mother's gentle swaying. Azula then pressed his belly to her robed chest, and walked about her bedroom, thinking to herself immediately just how warm he was as he cuddled against her. She sighed, smiling, as he lifted his head and put his lips to her chin, as if kissing her. He opened his mouth and nibbled at it briefly, but then allowed a third yawn to sneak past him.

His left hand snaked about her bosom and grabbed hold of the lazy neckline of her robe as Azula whispered in his ear, her voice tickling his skin, "Are you hungry, sweetheart?"

A tired coo was Raiden's primitive reply. He blinked several times, squinting as light from the open window entered his vision. He stared out it, peering at a swaying tree as it danced melodiously to the rhythm of the morning wind.

Azula gave him a heartfelt smile and walked him to his changing table, where she rested the frail baby on his back. Raiden's toes curled and uncurled, his legs kicked about as he eyed his mother in stoic suspicion as she found him a clean cloth diaper. With practiced discipline, Azula managed to pull the dirty cloth off his bottom before he had a chance to complain, and set about wiping him clean.

Another milestone to add to many so far, she supposed, stifling a laugh to news that would surely make her husband thrilled the next time he had to change one of his son's soiled diapers. Raiden's testicles had dropped finally. The palace physician had told Azula during his after-birth checkup that the baby's early birth at thirty-two weeks had kept the testes from descending, and had assured the first-time mom (and dad, when Chan came into the picture a week later) that they would fall before his sixth month of life. Well, Azula mused, five and a half weeks was as good a time as any, considering just how premature Raiden was…

Wrapping a fresh diaper around his waist and making sure to point his penis downward with her thumb and forefinger before tying off the ends, Azula had managed to get her little Raiden changed without a single outburst on his part, and she noticed that he had since closed his eyes again. His left hand was splayed atop his nose in an unimposing fist, and his right was flat atop his bellybutton. He was sound asleep yet again.

Even something as simple as being changed wore baby Raiden out. And even though she hated disturbing him, she peeled him off the changing table, holding him up just above her, staring deep into those tired colorless eyes of his, now open only in half-moon slits.

"There's my beautiful boy," she whispered to him, her heart fluttering with joy. She felt the sting of happy tears edging on her lashes as she gazed into her son's eyes and saw his father in his visage. She brought him down just mere centimeters from her own face and planted a peck to his cheek, to which he merely responded with a pitchy grunt.

Now that he was awake again, Azula settled Raiden down in the crook of her arm and took a seat on her bed, and pushed her back against her fluffed pillow. She unknotted her robe and again cuddled preemie Raiden between her swollen breasts. Still tired, the infant bobbed his head, his lashed lids struggling to stay lifted from his eyes. With the tips of her once-sharp and dagger-like fingernails, Azula tickled the nape of his neck. She kissed the wrinkled folds of his forehead, as, finally, with instincts taking over him, Raiden pushed himself downward, his nose leveling with her exposed nipple. He lunged, forcing the breast between his flanged lips.

Azula felt the goose bumps crawl on her skin upon feeling her nipple brush against her son's soft palette. She loved the intimacy of nourishing her son, loved being the only one capable of doing it perfectly. The way her baby expressed milk from her breast often made her think of the act of nursing him as the show of the demons of her past drawing forth from her in the form of something good. Breastfeeding Raiden had been the first deed she had done for him upon the first hour of his birth, the very first thing she did to draw him into her heart. No servant or wet nurse would ever take this tender, impactful responsibility away from her, no matter how constrained it caused her life to be. Azula had often opted out of meetings and other palace functions (to only have Chan go in her stead, which he did faithfully) with her brother and counselors and the people of her nation to maintain a strict nursing schedule with her son. Unless his colic superseded his desire to breastfeed, Raiden nursed up to twelve times a day, and Azula was more than happy to bask in the silent solitude atop her bed or in her mother's old rocking chair to give her tiny baby boy what he needed most.

She traced a finger across the contour of Raiden's pink cheek, which rose and fell in rhythm to his suckles. A fist pounded atop the mound of her ample breast –his own haphazard version of kneading, she supposed –and those two knobby knees of his kicked beneath her arms and into her ribcage. She winced lightly. These slight pains, these little selfless inconveniences that encompassed motherhood… Azula would have given up the opportunity to experience them firsthand had her own mother not intervened the day preemie Raiden was born inside the Boiling Rock. She shuddered at the thought of replacing the sleepless nights, the painfully engorged breasts, and the dirty diapers with what had been her life before. The shallow, heartless, starved and on the verge of death person she had been before the birth of her baby could have remained until death itself would have seized her, and she would have never known those tiny attempts at smiling, those primal coos that resonated a language only she and Chan seemed to understand, that climatic seizure of bliss that rattled her bosom each time he cried out in need of her…

Azula surrendered a tear, and felt it drop into the dip in her clavicle, just slightly above where Raiden's now unmoving hand had settled. His miniature palm was pressed flat to her heart; his fingers were splayed as far as they could reach, capturing every beat her heart drummed. Azula coiled her slender but significantly larger hand around his, and gave it a reassuring squeeze. His suckles, she noticed then, had slowed, and his latch on her nipple was becoming significantly shallow, a fact that was quickly showing signs of vexing him.

Knowing full well that her Raiden was still hungry, she gradually coaxed him off her breast fully and placed the exasperated infant atop a burp cloth draped over her shoulder, where she began softly patting any air out of him. Instead of burping, however, the lack of there being a breast in his mouth caused Raiden to let out a squeal of anger. He turned his head as far as his underdeveloped neck muscles would allow him to and buried his face in the crook of his mother's warm neck, where he vented his frustrations in bursts of loud, irritated screeches.

"Shh, Raiden, baby," Azula tenderly murmured in Raiden's ear, pressing her lips to its curves of cartilage and adding a much-needed kiss for effect. "I know, I know…"

As much as she wanted to switch breasts and satisfy her son's wants, she knew she had to get him burped first, or else colicky Raiden would find something else to be perturbed about…

"Let Mommy burp you first, sweetie."

The well-intended command barely mattered; Raiden was no more cooperative than he was in the moments prior, but he ultimately submitted to being replaced on Azula's shoulder. As he wailed in agony atop her, Azula resumed patting his back and rubbing him up and down his spine until the burp she had been hoping for finally expelled itself in a yellowish heaving of breast milk and bile.

Still upset, the sobbing Raiden choked once, and Azula immediately scooped him off her shoulder. The burp cloth, soaked with the contents of the baby's stomach, was discarded and swiftly replaced with another, which she used to wipe the excess spit-up that had effectively began rolling from his lips and descending the curve of his neck. Throughout the entire cleansing, Raiden's body twitched and flailed, his arms jerked, his legs bent themselves up against his barely impressionable belly, but his loving mother kept at it until the undigested milk was washed entirely from his skin.

"There, there, Raiden," she said at last through his relentless screaming. "Shh, Mommy's right here…"

To better comfort him, she cupped his chin and laid him back on the supple rise of her chest, resting his ear against the drum of her steady heartbeat. Rising from her bed, Azula stepped around her bedroom, rocking and swaying baby Raiden back into a state of stillness. Quieting his cries to nothing more than muffled whimpers, Raiden gaged his interest in nursing once more, and teased a wrinkle in his mother's robe between his gums, unknowingly waiting for his action to have the desired effect.

Raiden, the dear things he did to melt her into submission… Something as simple as gumming her robe was enough to send the princess down onto quivering knees. She fell back on the pillows she had propped up when she had prepared to nurse her boy the first time, feeling them behind her like soft reminders of what this morning had so far accomplished. Her son was only halfway through his first feeding of the day and had already been through so much crying and exhaustion that the time had seemed to Azula to stretch on longer than it had in reality. Only thirty minutes or so had passed since she woke, and the little boy's colic-induced sufferings were only just commencing.

The pain her little boy –whom she adored more than anything in her life –felt was her own pain, transferred to her via the love in her heart for him. Being an unusually colicky babe, there was no bout of anguish he deserved, and she so desperately wished she had the power to cast the demon of the infantile illness out of him the way he banished the evils of her life out by simply being there when she needed him…

The combination of Raiden's impatient knuckle beating at her breast and a dull knock on her bedroom door brought her back to reality. Before acknowledging the guest behind the doorway, Azula wriggled her second breast into Raiden's rosebud mouth. Attuned to her maternal instincts, she took her bed sheet and concealed her baby and breasts beneath it, fearing a servant's unwarranted intrusion.

She took a quick peek. Seeing that Raiden's latch on her nipple was fine and that he was suckling contentedly, despite the sudden change of light on his eyes, Azula finally replied, "Who is it?"

"Hey, 'Zula, it's me," Chan said, his voice low, laced with fatigue. "Do you want me to come in? I brought you breakfast."

Food… Azula had neglected her own hunger in exchange for quelling Raiden of his. On impulse, her stomach rattled. Raiden toes grazed her abdomen; his fingers attempted in vain to clutch the flesh of her bosom as a better maneuver for kneading, but the petite preemie suddenly lost his grip on her nipple and shrieked.

Azula exhaled. "Hold on, honey," she answered to Chan, nevertheless diverting her attention back on Raiden, whose milk-sodden mouth was opening wide and closing over and over beneath the cover –the babe's own fruitless search through thin air for the meal he was missing out on –as he squealed those pitchy squeals of his.

"Is Raiden all right, honey?" Chan called weakly. "You want me to come back later?"

This question Azula had no time to answer for. Keeping Raiden concealed (in case a nosy servant decided to barge in unannounced), she changed his position in her arms, and clutched him to her side, holding him up with the underside of her arm against his backbone. Cupping his fine-haired head in her hand, she angled Raiden so that his face was forward, aligned perfectly to her nipple. Her other hand she coiled around her breast, and she nudged her nipple between his gums. With his mouth full and his mission to find his meal yet again accomplished, Raiden shushed himself, and began concentrating on emptying his mother's breast once more.

"Come in, Chan."

The door at the far end of the room opened to reveal a wan, most obviously tired Chan. In his grip was a tray with a bowl of rice and a tall glass of water, which he sat at the foot of their bed. With relief at seeing the face of the man she loved swarming over her, the princess pulled the sheet away from Raiden, an action which caused the suckling infant to squirm, but thankfully he was not upset enough to release her nipple from his mouth again.

"Sorry, Chan," she confessed, and patted Raiden's head. "I thought you were a servant at first, and then Raiden here had a little trouble latching on."

Chan ignored this admission. Whether this was an act of benign dismissal or that he just simply did not hear her, Azula had no idea. Chan kissed his wife full on the lips, running his hand to the back of her head and craning her neck into him. "Morning, baby," he slurred, his gray eyes sunken as they weakly looked her over after letting her go. He glanced at Raiden, then back to Azula, then to the cozy pile of pillows she was resting on.

"Oh, Chan, please lie down." Azula used the free hand she had after having changed the position of the nursing Raiden and fluffed up an extra pillow next to her. She patted it, and invited her husband to lie next to her, to which he obliged without comment.

"You look so tired, honey," she cajoled after he got comfortable, and began stroking Chan's light hair with the same tenderness she applied when she fondled Raiden's thin, fawn wisps. "Let me guess: a long, over-exhausting meeting with my brother?"

Chan closed his eyes. "Yeah," he replied in a yawn, blindly reaching out above him to massage the knuckles of his wife's loving hand. In short, but slow circles, he rubbed the fine line of bones, and then cascaded down her whole arm in one methodical swipe, only to bring his hand back up and recommence the massage on her knuckles for a second time. "That, and Raiden's crying kept me up. Once you finally put him down and went to sleep yourself, a servant snuck in and called me down to Zuko's chambers. I don't know why Zuko couldn't have waited 'till morning."

"Well, you know how Zuko is," offered Azula in weak defense to her brother, quickly glancing Raiden's way before settling her eyes back on Chan. She sighed a purr of pleasure to the tickle of her husband's fingertips dancing over her flesh. "Once something creeps on his mind, he can't let it go until he gets it resolved."

"Yeah, I know."

The two parents sat together in silence. Chan kindly sat back up and clutched the rice bowl for his wife. He held it out to her, prompting her to eat. Azula smiled in appreciation before she negotiated the chopsticks into her free hand, and then delicately proceeded to consume the now barely warm meal. As she ate, Raiden reluctantly eased himself off his mother's breast on his own. Azula, no longer feeling the sensation of her son's suckles, peered at him, grinning.

"All done, sweetie?" she asked the five-week-old, only to receive a milky gurgle in affirmation as she set down the chopsticks.

"You want me to burp him?" Chan inquired before Azula had a chance to snuggle their son up on her shoulder. His genuine concern was no shock to her –his willingness to help was always appreciated –but she knew what was best for her husband.

She shook her head. "No, I got it, honey. You just rest. I should only be a few minutes with him, and then we can sleep."

Chan placed the empty rice bowl back on its tray. He murmured an appreciative sigh of thanks, and turned over, grabbing hold of a corner of the bed sheet and pulling it over his shoulder. Azula's bushed husband was out before she could even finish burping Raiden. She palmed her baby boy's curved spine, but the effort she put into doing so seemed futile, for the baby had nothing but a single hiccup to expel. So, Azula stood up and ambled over to the changing table. Atop a dresser next to it was a fresh set of clothes she had set out for Raiden the night before: an outfit that she had been waiting to try on him for days. The shirt and pants had been Zuko's, freshly preserved and given to her by her mother who had told her that Zuko, too, had been a preemie, but had been born at thirty-five weeks, as opposed to Raiden's thirty-two. The baby-sized hat lying atop her brother's shirt and pants was hand woven by the waterbender, Katara as a gift. Crocheted with the very same materials she used in her homeland, the cap was made to be very warm, and, without a doubt, charming. At the front of the hat, Katara had finely woven an intricate image of a dragon behind a blue bolt of lightning: the very symbol of Raiden's namesake. Azula had accepted this gift (one of many so far at the hands of the waterbender) with appreciation, and was excited now to finally be getting the chance to try it on her newborn.

Before placing clothes on him, Azula first made sure that he was still clean. She unknotted the ends of his diaper, and gently pulled the front away from his genitals, remembering to keep the cloth angled in case Raiden decided to suddenly urinate on her without pretense. Much to her appreciation, the diaper was dry and her clothes remained unsoiled for the time being. After tying it back up on his hips, she placed a supportive hand on his soft belly to hold him in place and grabbed Zuko's old shirt.

"This shirt was your uncle's when he was a baby, Raiden," she informed him in that sweet, maternal tone that soothed him when he was cranky. Of course, she knew he could not understand her and that she had no intention of receiving any sort of tangible reply from him in return, but talking to Raiden was therapeutic for her. She enjoyed sitting for hours with him after ending those typical bouts of colic-induced crying on Ursa's old rocking chair, teasing his brown hair between her fingertips and regaling him on just about anything that was on her mind, be it a compliment on how big he was getting, or thoughts on how the nations were faring. The tiny baby did one thing better than anyone: he listened. Raiden had not the capacity to critique; he was armed only with his obsession of her voice, and that fact alone made him a valuable asset to her recovery from madness. He diffused the tension she felt, let her release her joys and frustrations on him the way he released his own feelings on her.

So, Azula unfolded the maroon shirt and held it out in front of her. Judging from its size, she could tell even this shirt would look baggy on her boy (even cloth diapers drooped on him), but it would be a better fit than most of the outfits she had, all of which had been made to fit full-term babies. Untying the string in the front, she pressed the shirt out flat on the changing table, and lifted Raiden so she could place him on top of it. Ready to sleep like his daddy was audibly doing at the moment, Raiden grumbled upon being raised, but gave his mother no form of resistance as she tugged his arms through the shirt's sleeves.

"There you go, Raiden," Azula said after looping the string at the shirt's front into a nice bow. Stepping back ever so slightly, she appraised the fit.

"Still a little big," she judged, giggling, "but, my, you do look handsome in Uncle Zuzu's shirt."

Raiden flapped his arms in sporadic jerks in response to his mother's compliment, and then decided to entertain her with a string of pleasant coos. He rocked his knees like a cyclist –albeit a very sloppy one –until Azula took hold of his ankles, kissing his feet. At this, the baby gave her a wide-eyed look of surprise, his mouth agape until an unexpected sneeze seized him.

"Bless you, sweetie."

To subdue him after the sneeze, Azula brushed the back of her hand against her son's smooth cheek, and Raiden's little hands reached out to touch hers. He managed to nab her pinkie –the only digit that could possibly fit into such a small grasp –and crammed it into his mouth. Azula allowed him the pleasure of suckling on her pinkie, her heart swelling with pride at the miracle before her. Her beautiful Raiden, born two months early due to deplorable prenatal care and nourishment on her own behalf, was lucky to be alive and breathing at all. But alive he was, truly thriving before her and Chan's very eyes.

She lowered her face so that she was mere centimeters from him, the tip of her nose grazing his. "I love you, Raiden," she whispered with affection, the tremendous truth behind her words dawning on her as she kissed the tender folds of loose skin on his forehead. How could she not have loved him five weeks prior? How could she have possibly denied him life outside her womb? This baby, no matter if he had died before birth or had been ordained to Zuko, was her flesh and blood, the outcome of her union with Chan. There were no words, no excuses now that could possibly justify the revulsion she had felt. Loathing baby Raiden was her greatest regret in life, and even though she had since sought and received the forgiveness of the spirits, she still struggled to forgive herself. But every day she spent being Raiden's mother brought her closer and closer to doing so.

Azula's cheek betrayed a fallen tear. "Mommy loves you so much, Raiden," she managed to say, sniffling quietly in spite herself while Raiden replaced her pinkie with his first and middle fingers. His other hand he pressed to the minute drooping of his cheek, and into his wrinkled palm he yawned, releasing the fingers he had been mouthing on at once in a seizure of sleepiness.

The once hard-hearted princess wiped away the tear from her cheek, and grasped the lower half of Raiden's outfit: the loose pair of pants that had once shaped her brother's waist as a baby. Determined to fall asleep midway through his dress-up session, Raiden offered not a peep of distress as his mommy finished what she had started. Like the shirt, the pants had a string at the front, and thankfully so, since Azula could easily tell that they would fall off him if she so much as picked him up out of his crib without having a knot to tie. So, once she pulled them up past Raiden's equally baggy diaper, she curled the string into a fine bow, and then carefully pulled Katara's adorable cap over his hairy head.

Azula suppressed a chuckle, caring not to hold back her smile at her gorgeous little babe. He looked like a little clown before her: all loose-fitted with a cap on the head to top it all off. The hat itself, which Katara made sure to stitch to fit him finely, was really the only article of clothing Azula could say she owned that actually fit him just right. But those rippling wrinkles on his forehead that were deepened by the hat's rim hugging his skin just complimented his comical appearance.

She raised him off the changing table and pressed him to her breasts, walking delicately toward his crib. The sun, which had been illuminating his bed less than an hour prior, was now much higher in the sky. No longer was the horizon rich with the pink of sunrise; now it was in whole a tender blue shade, with not a cloud to be found.

The two made their way to the crib. With that typical hesitation that encased her every time she had to put Raiden down to sleep, Azula set the child onto the billowy mattress, where he fidgeted on his back. His arms flapped awkwardly and he let out a cranky roar, immediately letting his mother know that snoozing was no longer on his mind. After having it for such a long time, her attention was all he craved now, and the poor babe could not bear the idea of her leaving him alone.

Azula sighed at him from above, her hands draping over the crib's edge. Using her long fingernails, she tickled his belly, and whispered, "Shh, Raiden. I'm here. Mommy's right here.

"I will never leave you, Raiden…"

Indeed, this was her promise to her son, one she swore in both her heart and mind that she would keep. No matter how rough the future was going to be for her baby, she declared that by his side she would eternally remain, holding his hand, fighting for him, erasing her mistakes away to ease on a clearer path for him…

The princess watched her Raiden's deep gray eyes grow heavy. He released a few pathetic whimpers, his lip curling every so sweetly when her hand slid off his tummy and onto his cheek. His palms found their way to her wrist, where a gold band was wrapped. He played at trying to coil his fingers around it without too much success, and Azula had a feeling his failure would cause him to wail, but, no, all her precious baby wanted to do was hold her in his way, keep her beside him until sleep found him. And very soon enough, it did, and down did those tiny arms fall, where they landed on the mattress.

Azula pulled Raiden's blanket over him, tucking the ends beneath his frail frame with the very delicacy of a sculptor, her hands working to encase his sides in complete warmth. Once that deed was done, her fingers trailed the tousled meadow of his beloved brown hair that stuck out beneath the rim of his cap, her hesitation to detach herself from him still boldly evident. But he was down for now and at peace. All the teeny child needed from her now was her kiss goodnight, her blessing into his slumber. With fondness, she brushed a few tufts of hair from his puffy cheek and settled her lips against his skin, kissing the warm flesh not once, but twice. One for herself and the other for Chan, who hadn't the chance to give Raiden his own kiss in his current state of restfulness. Beneath her, little Raiden twitched, forming just for his mother one last endearing coo before she had to rise up and depart from the crib.

Just before reaching her bed and tugging the sheet down, she turned her head back in her son's direction.

"Sweet dreams, my darling baby boy," she said in a faint whisper, though the words were loud and they echoed in her heart. "Daddy and I love you."

And with that, Azula joined her husband's side in bed. Chan had since rolled himself onto his spine, the sheet more or less tossed atop him. The motherly princess, not wanting him to get cold, refolded it over his body. His still, partially-opened lips invited hers in, and as she kissed him, she closed her eyes, finally submitting to the overwhelming tiredness she had denied herself from feeling in her maternal duties to her son. Like a weight upon her back, the aching desire to sleep pushed her down onto the mattress, where she nuzzled herself against Chan's muscular frame at last.

Sleep managed to find the princess just as quickly as it had found Chan, and joining in with the two men in her life, she and her little family napped in silence together inside her sunlit bedroom…

Until Raiden had a sudden change of heart…

…An hour later.


End file.
